Erasure

Run the wet mop over the floor,
take a look from a distance,
make sure footfalls are wiped clean –
I give my maid instructions.
Trying to bite the tail end of a dying year
hours and minutes roll over days and nights.
This cozy home treasures a trail
of faded footfalls – a host of trodden
imprints, from toddlers to old men,
wheel marks of potty chairs,
dotted flowers by feline paws,
geometrical patterns from rubber soles,
crutch marks from a son’s tendon tear,
classical dance steps tapping a tattoo.
The reptile motion of a wet cloth
dissolves all these and more.
Like a forgotten family tree
I used to stomp around once
spinning aspirations, scattering
agile footprints everywhere,
like lazy doodled lines.
Now, I hobble all the way
hanging onto fingertips of love.
Like Jupiter meeting Saturn
on their orbit, not bothering erasures
dear ones meet and part
as night dips a round seal
in black ink to wipe clean
the rainbow colours of vibrant earth.

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