cleaning the kitchen,
plastic covered couches
untouched in an unused living room
We won’t stay here,
but she scrubs until the floors are
clean of the blood and sweat
until every inch of my father is gone
And when we get to America,
She’ll bleach the counters like she’s
Cleaning up a crime scene
Until every inch of immigrant is gone
And we will survive this
and I might forget this
but she will never stop cleaning.
Her couches will always stay covered.