Cleaning my room Olivia O’Connor
I remember the first time it happened. A cold Saturday in January, Elizabeth and I sat on my bed While you flitted around and cleaned my room. I’ve never been good at it– I get distracted, discouraged, overwhelmed. The clutter builds up and my mind gets messy. My mom called you my savior when you were done. I remember another time it happened. August 29, 2020. Elizabeth was at school. I wasn’t. I sat on my bed and cried. My mind and my room felt inescapable. You took your time and your gentle hands And made my space safe again. I sobbed my thanks in your arms. (I remember cleaning my room myself once. A momentary burst of energy had hit me. I sent you a video when I was through. You were so proud of me.) I remember the last time it happened. Abby was coming to visit And my room was not suitable for guests. We grabbed breakfast beforehand. You were so excited to meet her Because you knew how important she was to me And she knew how important you were to me. I couldn’t wait for you to meet her either. Now, when my room is messy, I clean it on my own. We no longer speak, But I will never forget what you did for me. For some people, cleaning someone’s room is nothing. It wasn’t nothing to you and me. It was an act of love from you to me. And I still feel that love every time I stand in my room.
American Literary Magazine | 140
