This is my broom.
With which I lovingly sweep the floor.
And on which I occasionally fly to town.
The handle is rough, and sometimes hurts my hands.
But I don't care.
It's what I use when I feel like I love my job. When I love keeping my house clean. I get a special joy out of making things tidy. You'd think, if that was the case, that I'd clean more often. Somehow, it never seems to happen that way. I like to clean when I want to. Not when I have to.
This broom was handmade, and it's beautiful. The loop on the top is made of leather. The bristles are made of broom. It is a natural object, naturally part of domestic life. The bristles are blue. A friend gave me a wrought iron hook he made. A handmade hook on which to hang my handmade broom. It's the little things that make life a joy. Noticing that hook and thinking that it was made by someone I know. Knowing that it's unique and perfect and completely different from any other. It's a perfect place to keep my broom.
When I sweep I think of all the women that have gone before me. Sweeping kitchens, hearths, porches. We must always sweep. Sweep aside the dust of past to make room for dust of future.
Trump: The Intersectional President
1 week ago