Cleaning Up

Like a conch shell I might take down from the mantle--its lip
all shine and suggestive pink--

then put back.

Or after playing dress-up, the dress-up clothes
we push down and into the basket--expanses

of netting, hollyhock scarf, feather boas, the beaded
cocktail purse, put back, put back.

Don? want.
Say nothing out loud.

Sit down. Go into some phrase of Chopin?--
diligent with your finger-work, his temperament

always able to bear up under you. Put it all away.
Close the book up.

As if what? savage in you is ever spent.

Watch the gardener rake the beach, rake
each morning, that the sand be clean

of seaweed, of all the dark flourishes.