Just Clean Gone

A few weeks ago, I was sitting in church, and had one of those random thought-trains that have nothing whatsoever to do with the sermon. I was thinking about the phrase "clean gone," as in, "I'm just clean gone on him!" I love that phrase. I don't know why. But I started to play with the the idea of what it would like look in a picture or poem, and I wrote something down on my bulletin. I found it a week later and wrote this. 

Clean Gone

 

Not even a pickle jar

left in the icebox.

 

No shoes or paper clippings comfort

the straw-swept floor.

 

Outside, the laundry line trembles

in naked air,

 

and white clapboard sheds grey over

sighs of sinking foundation.

 

Let it sink, my love - I can never go back

to the home I lived without you.