loving houses better than themselves

I often find myself having to choose, as I know everyone does.

But as a woman I find myself always frequently feeling the need to choose between office work or family time or play and ... cleaning, straightening, dusting, sweeping, brushing, baking, ironing, wiping, cooking, sorting, folding, vacuming, tending, mending.  Deep breath.

I resent the feeling, the guilt, the hopelessness, that my house isn't clean enough. Or straightened enough. Or Martha enough.

So it was with relief and gratitude that I read this poem by Erica Jong.

It helps to know someone understands. Well enough to put it in writing.

Woman Enough

by Erica Jong

Because my grandmother's hours

were apple cakes baking,

& dust motes gathering,

& linens yellowing

& seams and hems

inevitably unraveling

I almost never keep house

though really I like houses

& wish I had a clean one.

Because my mother's minutes

were sucked into the roar

of the vacuum cleaner,

because she waltzed with the washer-dryer

& tore her hair waiting for repairmen

I send out my laundry,

& live in a dusty house,

though really I like clean houses

as well as anyone.

I am woman enough

to love the kneading of bread

as much as the feel

of typewriter keys

under my fingers

springy, springy.

& the smell of clean laundry

& simmering soup

are almost as dear to me

as the smell of paper and ink.

I wish there were not a choice;

I wish I could be two women.

I wish the days could be longer.

But they are short.

So I write while

the dust piles up.

I sit at my typewriter

remembering my grandmother

& all my mothers,

& the minutes they lost

loving houses better than themselves

& the man I love cleans up the kitchen

grumbling only a little

because he knows

that after all these centuries

it is easier for him

than for me.