Saturday mornings growing up
my mother made me clean the bathroom

. windex . bleach
. scrub brush . rags
. mop . bucket . broom . dustpan
. lots of paper towels

she insisted I clean the bathroom
every Saturday morning
before I did anything else
with absolutely no chance of an allowance
she paid me plenty she said

. shelter . food . clothing
. television . internet . video games
. books . some sort of education

not to mention

. life

“do it because you love me”

so waking up Saturday
meant cleaning the bathroom

it meant my hands reeked of chemicals
while my friends enjoyed games I couldn't join
it meant I missed the best of all
the cartoons everyone else watched
it meant I didn’t feel like loving my mother

for years I begrudgingly

. scrubbed . wiped . cleaned

that bathroom
until it sparkled - until it shined
like the top of the Chrysler building

. sink . mirror
. toilet . tub
. floor

all of it spotless
love you mom

then in college
there's this woman that I'm living with
this woman that provides me with

. shelter . food . clothing
. television . internet . etc.

and she makes me feel alive
so I clean her bathroom
and when she asks me, “why?”
all I can think to say is

“I did it because I love you”

and it feels like that's the truth