Cleanliness is next to godliness Anemone Beaulier (bio) but I had no god: just cleanliness.I was devout, bent over groutwith a stiff-bristled brush, laundering curtains,buffing granite, dusting ceiling fans.Before you, I spent a day each week makingcandlesticks, porcelain sinks, and plank floors shine,and I cannot tell you—child who sits in dirt,rolls in dirt, eats dirt—how it was something divine,as if a clean house meant a clean mind. Now, dust rises in storm beneathour bed, the oven's a den of ash,the carpet ingests crumbs and exhales lint—for I can do just what can be done as you napor drag about on my pants' hems.My world is ungodly and unclean,a forsaken chaos of grass clippings and saltinesground into the floor by sandbox feet.I look at all I control and see I control nothing. But, as I survey this post-apocalyptic scene,you point at your highchair, reminding mewe must eat, though our feet are set uponby dog-hair tumbleweeds. You're right,and the peanut-butter sandwiches are good—so good you rub the goop over your onesie,into your hair, draw it 'cross your cheeks.You love the sandwich so much you become [End Page 134] the sandwich, raising your buttered eyebrows,twisting your finger in your peanutty ear,and squealing when I give you another piece. I am laughing, though you'll need a bath;the chair, a sponge; your shirt, washing.You are happy. And from the wreckagerises a godliness next to nothing. [End Page 135] Anemone Beaulier Anemone Beaulier's poetry has appeared or is forthcoming on Poetry Daily and in Briar Cliff Review, Cimarron Review, Main Street Rag, the Pinch, Poet Lore, Salamander, the Southern Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review, and elsewhere. She lives in North Dakota. Copyright © 2018 University of Nebraska Press