Daughter’s Housekeeping
A poem by Jennifer Mills Kerr

Daughter’s Housekeeping

To polish my family tree
and scrub sorrow from sunrise, 
I vacuum the depths of 
winter, a damp grief that somehow
smells sweet.

My mother’s life, a cross-stitched 
handkerchief, whisky-soaked and
gray; her cobwebs I repeatedly 
wipe away with vinegar and salt.

To polish bones into lemon shine 
only casts light; in every dark chamber
my mother’s pain, a candle-lit
table, an empty kitchen at night.

Her mind left port years ago,
flailing through incessant 
storms.  On clear days I see 
a dot on the horizon– 
unrecognizable across

misty currents. Salt-air
burns, purifies and
the pain, bright as sun.

About the Author:

Jennifer Mills Kerr loves mild winters, anything Jane Austen, and the raucous coast of Northern California. After twenty years writing & publishing fiction, she has recently “come out” as a poet, with upcoming work appearing in The Inflectionist Review. Jennifer leads generative writing groups online which foster creativity & community. Connect with Jennifer at www.JenniferMillsKerr.com.

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