The housewife’s body baby-
sits wet condiments.
She is soft, dimpled,
and lolling about barefoot.
She wears a loose tooth of a dress.
She considers the refrigerator’s width
one part hush, one part embalmment.
She sits stricken with instruments:
a phone sometimes, or the sponge used
to wipe stickiness from the light switch.
The housewife warms the coins
in her apron pocket;
often she goes soft inside, secretly
counting herself
among the pats of butter.

Sarah J. Sloat

Sarah J. Sloat is a cook, a poet, a lawnmower, a washer woman, a news editor, a dog walker, a cleaning lady, a bookkeeper and a killer of mosquitos. She blogs at

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