The Broom


The broom rests in its place in the corner
All my life I could sweep
and always there would be more to clear away
It is a mystery to me
how each day the world gathers
these small grey clouds
and the floor, every exposed thing is
fogged with all the whimsy, all the unravelling
of fabric and skin and hair
animals, grass, collective mud
all from this one day
and still the air
goes winking, falling past

What will my children remember
of this woman? sweeping     sweeping
forever coaxing the dust into greater clouds
only to start again

Let the floor be for dancing
Let the books lie under their dust
until they are read
Let the broom fall
by the open door


Lissa Moore emigrated from the UK with her husband and children in 2003. She lives in North Otago and currently works part-time in Dunedin as a Learning Support Tutor. Her poems have appeared in Tiny GapsLandfall and Reactions (UK).