Guzlowski-Stepek: The Never-ending Poem

The lady in number six played the piano numbers on her wrist played the piano happy as a lark played the piano family wiped out played the piano lived to over a hundred played the piano died a happy death played the piano the lady in number six taught us how to play the piano

Washing clothes is easy. 65 years ago  my mother showed me how.   First you push back  the memories of death and war,  the bodies left by the side of the road.   Nothing will ever clean them.   No soap, no water,  however hot, will do it.   So push them back.   Then, put the dirty clothes  in the washing machine  and pray no one will come  into the basement and kill you.  

I take the washing out. My bones and muscles are stiff after a good, long sleep. I woke up with a thousand thoughts in my head. A thousand doubts in my head about what I'm doing what I'm not doing what I'm not getting round to doing. While outside I appreciate the sun the fresh air the dandelions which I'll soon pick for the rabbits. It's so mundane not to be thinking of death, starvation, murder corpses.