January 24, 2023

shoveling the snowdrift

Call it clearing the drain or wiping the lint trap or patching the drywall.
Think of it the way you might a faultline in the couch where loose change 
pools at the bottom, or the forgotten pocket where you’d stuffed the receipt of something
that needs to be sent back. Sometimes, whatever we’d thought was heavy lifting is only 
the half of it, the rest revealing itself once the room is empty again or the calendar turns
or the plow has come and gone. Let’s not stop now. There is a layer of effort that needs 
our attention. There is a layer of attention that needs our effort. Not to erase what descended 
while we slept but what became known to us when the morning exposed its remainder. 
And the work is now less muscle than patience, less bravado than humility. Call it 
scrubbing the cast iron or shoveling the snowdrift or flushing the wound clean.