Spring Cleaning

[penneddown]

When I was nineteen I cleaned her house
Top to bottom.
Washed away her boredom
With my greying sponge
And ran my fingers through
Her scarves and clothes.
I liked one particular belt
With a butterfly clasp.
It felt cold and heavy.

I loved her husband something
thick and desperate.
He looked like I thought men should look.
With my mop I followed
His dirty footprints on the
Linoleum. Sometimes I thought
About stealing his cigars.

I cleared away lipstick stained coffee cups
And half-dressed glasses of wine.
Lifting soot from the fireplace
I cradled a picture of her mother
On the mantlepiece,
Before wiping the dust away.

Walking home I lost
the money she gave me.
I spent the afternoon retracing my steps,
Honeysuckle in my nose and
wind burning my eyes.
I never did find that twenty.

[whyelliswhy]

The poem's literalness is its strength here: "I cleared away lipstick-stained coffee cups," or "Walking home I lost the money she gave me." And the metaphoric parts feel weak: "Removed cobwebs from her lonely corners." You don't have to tell me she lives a lonely lifestyle. You have/can describe(d) it through the objects.

And the perspective of this person is just a snapshot in time. Not every poem needs to have a clear message. Although you could add some interest in the character's interaction with others. Cleaning up dirty foot prints in the linoleum isn't as enticing as saying he/she walked along the dirty footsteps before cleaning. Revise some of the cliched parts with something of interest.

[penneddown]

Thanks for the feedback whyelliswhy. I agree about the lonely corners. I have made some amendments below.

When I was nineteen I cleaned her house
Top to bottom.
Washed away her boredom
With my greying sponge
And ran my fingers through
Her scarves and clothes.
I liked one particular belt
With a butterfly clasp.
It felt cold and heavy.

I loved her husband something
thick and desperate.
He looked like I thought men should look.
With my mop I retraced
His dirty footprints on the
Linoleum. Sometimes I thought
About stealing his cigars.

I cleared away lipstick stained coffee cups
And dregs of wine,
Removed cobwebs from her
Corners
And cradled a picture of her mother
On the mantlepiece,
Before wiping the dust away.

Walking home I lost
the money she gave me.
I spent the afternoon retracing my steps,
Honeysuckle in my nose and
wind burning my eyes.
I never did find that twenty.

[Knot]

.
Hi penned.

I like the portrait of the narrator, but there are a couple of places where it seems either underwritten (L5-9, I don't think the envy/possessiveness is strong enough) or irrelevant (L20-22). And theending doesn't satisfy. Why does it matter that N didn't find the money? It didn't seem to be why she/he was cleaning the house in the first place.

Either all likes should begin with a capital, or just where it's necessary. My vote is for the latter.


When I was nineteen
I cleaned her house
Top to bottom.
For twenty bucks.

Washed away her boredom
With my greying sponge
(I think you need something better than 'greying', and isn't it 'wiped away'? And how does N's cleaning wash away her boredom? What, if any, was her interest in N?)
cleared lipsticked coffee cups
And dregs of wine,
(Anything better than dregs? Why was there wine remaining in the glasses? What got interrupted?)

Removed cobwebs from her corners.
(Couldn't N 'unspin' the cobwebs, or something more interesting than 'removed'?)
And cradled a picture of her mother
On the mantelpiece
Before wiping the dust away.

In her/their bedroom I ran
my fingers through Her scarves
and clothes. I liked one
('clothes' is a bit non-specific)
particular belt

With a butterfly clasp.
It felt cold and heavy.
(What's the significance of 'cold and heavy'? Like to see a bit more of N's willingness to intrude)


I loved her husband
something thick and desperate.
He looked like I thought men should.
I followed His dirty footprints

With my mop on the Linoleum.
(agree with whyellis that there needs to be more here)
Sometimes I thought
About stealing his cigars.
(and does N steal them? And why cigars? What's the attraction?)

Walking home I lost the money
she gave me. I spent the afternoon
retracing my steps,
(this should really echo the 'dirty footprints' but it doesn't quite.)
Honeysuckle in my nose and
wind burning my eyes.
I never did find that twenty.
(and so ... what?)



Best, Knot.



.

[Mark A Becker]

Perhaps it should be the $20 HE gave you.

[busker]

When I was nineteen I cleaned her house
Top to bottom.
Washed away her boredom
With my greying sponge .... I like the juxtaposition of a presumably greying, bored middle aged employer and the grey sponge
And ran my fingers through
Her scarves and clothes.
I liked one particular belt
With a butterfly clasp.
It felt cold and heavy. ..... the 'cold and heavy' has a nice visceral feel to it

I loved her husband something
thick and desperate.
He looked like I thought men should look.
With my mop I followed
His dirty footprints on the
Linoleum. Sometimes I thought ....  this to me is the best part of the poem. You can see it.
About stealing his cigars.

I cleared away lipstick stained coffee cups
And dregs of wine,
Removed cobwebs from her corners. ..... 'dregs of wine' is overdone. And with cobwebs come corners. A trite predictable
And cradled a picture of her mother
On the mantlepiece, .... this is another arresting image, with the narrator living a comfortable, privileged life vicariously
Before wiping the dust away.

Walking home I lost
the money she gave me.
I spent the afternoon retracing my steps,
Honeysuckle in my nose and
wind burning my eyes. .... after all the sensations of the touch of tangible things (buckles, scarves, pictures on shelves, sponge in hand), comes the touch of the less tangible. It is connected to the preceding parts of the poem, but is not repetitive. I felt my eyes burning when I read it
I never did find that twenty. .. I'm not too sure if this adds anything to the poem. What's the significance of losing the money? Would it have been any different had the poem ended with 'and the sky was purple'? Also, the twenty / nineteen connection is confusing. You look for a connection which is not there. A weak ending to an otherwise great poem

I like this. It's as good as anything I've read on this site.

[penneddown]

Thanks for the feedback !

I have changed the cobweb image and the “dregs of wine” as it seems to be popular consensus that these are the weakest. I would be interested to hear any feedback on the changes.

[abigaildorothea]

When I was nineteen I cleaned her house
Top to bottom.
Washed away her boredom [trace, fragrance] to me it sounds like she's jealous of the woman's life and wants to replace her
With my greying sponge
And ran my fingers through
Her scarves and clothes.
I liked one particular belt
With a butterfly clasp.
It felt cold and heavy. [I tried it on once, and almost left it on the floor.] Not sure what the purpose of "it felt cold and heavy" was.

I loved her husband something
thick and desperate.  Honestly love those two lines
He looked like I thought men should look.
With my mop I followed
His dirty footprints on the
Linoleum. Sometimes I thought
About stealing his cigars.

I cleared away lipstick stained coffee cups
And half-dressed glasses of wine. 

Was she doing both of these actions at the same time? was the picture in the soot?
Lifting soot from the fireplace     Tidying the objects on the mantle I stop
I cradled a picture of her mother To cradle a picture of her mother.
(These two lines are a placeholder. I like yours but I was confused with those two lines as it suggests that as she lifted soot from the fireplace (which is hard to picture) she also cradled a picture of her mother)


On the mantlepiece,  
Before wiping the dust away.

Walking home I lost
the money she gave me.
I spent the afternoon retracing my steps,
Honeysuckle in my nose and
wind burning my eyes.
I never did find that twenty.

The rest is lovely. 

[Valerie Please]

Since this poem has been thoroughly critiqued already, I am only here to say that I really enjoyed it as well, I loved the tangibility of the descriptions (the cold and heavy belt buckle, the greying sponge, the footprints, etc.)

I saw someone bring up the cigar above. I can't speak for the author, but for me personally I LOVE the cigar detail. It is phallic, it has a lovely smell that would be part of the husband's own smell, it's something he puts in his mouth. I think the cigar is a perfect tangible stand-in for the sensory and sensual feelings the speaker has for the husband.

Well done, enjoyable thread.

[adillweed]

I agree with another reply saying the ending comes off as a bit unsatisfying, not as heartfelt as the beginning, but I also feel as if the whole situation being described is something that was left unfulfilled. The two highlighted bits emphasize it, so I suppose it was left that way on purpose which is beautiful within itself. 

When I was nineteen I cleaned her house
Top to bottom.
Washed away her boredom
With my greying sponge
And ran my fingers through
Her scarves and clothes.
I liked one particular belt
With a butterfly clasp.
It felt cold and heavy.

I loved her husband something
thick and desperate.
He looked like I thought men should look.
With my mop I followed
His dirty footprints on the
Linoleum. Sometimes I thought
About stealing his cigars.

I cleared away lipstick stained coffee cups
And half-dressed glasses of wine.
Lifting soot from the fireplace
I cradled a picture of her mother
On the mantlepiece,
Before wiping the dust away.

Walking home I lost
the money she gave me.
I spent the afternoon retracing my steps,
Honeysuckle in my nose and
wind burning my eyes.
I never did find that twenty.

[Caravano]

When I was nineteen I cleaned her house
Top to bottom.
Washed away her boredom
With my greying sponge
And ran my fingers through
Her scarves and clothes.
I liked one particular belt
With a butterfly clasp.
It felt cold and heavy.

I loved her husband something
thick and desperate.
He looked like I thought men should look.
With my mop I followed
His dirty footprints on the
Linoleum. Sometimes I thought
About stealing his cigars. stole a cigar.  

I [cleared] away lipstick stained coffee cups having trouble with "cleared", I would use something else 
And half-dressed glasses of wine.
Lifting soot from the fireplace 
I cradled a picture of her mother
On the mantlepiece,
Before wiping the dust away.

Walking home I lost the money
the money she gave me.
I spent the afternoon retracing my steps,
Honeysuckle in my nose and
wind burning my eyes.
I never did find that twenty. the twenty, never found.

[Caravano]

This has some interesting imagery and paints a scene well.
The problem I am have is that it leaves me wanting more, like what's the bigger picture?
Maybe, add a scene scene from your older life?
Maybe, you're like the older woman somehow, and this is a reflection of you?
Maybe, this is somehow cleaning your "soul"?
Don't be afraid to alter real events to for the sake of a better piece. (One of the best things I ever learned.) Memory is notoriously inaccurate anyway.