166/365: Saturday Home Comfort

Our house smells of laundry and smoke,
a mixture of chores and our neighbour's supper,
and the sink is again the soft white of new adult teeth,
scrubbed so with a sponge after Sunday's news.
It's a circle of regularity and warmth,
rhythm and solidity,
that pulls us inside itself
like a drawstring purse.
I like it here
and wish it were a place rather than a time
where I could visit at will
and bring friends who need the comfort.

#365poems at Schmutzie.com

Shame and a Haircut, Two Bits *

165/365: Fullness