Border Crossing: Corridor, 7:35 p.m.

•

hours after work's close
i stumble from light's drone
from navigating processing information jigsaw
the disappointment of volumes yet to be added
and author name headings still unreconciled

past the cleaning lady in the hall
furrowed over the cart of industrial hygiene
bleach mops cleaners suds powders
soaps toilet paper paper towel
all things familiar yet other on this epic scale

her ankles thickened from long standing
her hands gloveless swollen from scrubbing
her wrists free of ornament
her body wrapped in sack and apron
her hair pulled back in netting

and i remember college jobs of housecleaning
how i relished the solitude the absence of overseer
the peering into the nooks of strangers' secrets
the money for books once even a first edition
the deliverance however fleeting from my father's anguish

and think how different this is for her
these hours days years stretching into endless
of scouring and wiping and rinsing
the waste remnants of these bookish others
of mine this life in not quite shadow

but still the satisfaction or perhaps something like it
the dignity resisting heroic
in task completed
in the sparkle of these 8 p.m. toilets
and the clean of this federal marble

and i wonder about origins
cracked earth crowded rooms
the likelihood of instruction
and the terror of leaving love and language
being nearly buried alive in car trunk

and hope for the kiss of a child
the embrace of a man or woman at dance
cavorting of tiger lily in kitchen window
chorus of cricket on the green
and the cheer of souls clapping in communion

as I sound my evening adieu
and am gladdened by her looking up at me
by her smile suddenly so radiant by her clarity
and think I have been all wrong all wrong maybe
and step on yet unwashed tiles into elevator's arms