ELIZABETH KERLIKOWSKE

THE SIXTH DECADE OF SPRING CLEANING

I spent dusting light fixtures and cleaning bulbs. I

needed to be near or, better, in the light. Glass

globes freed of bug husks and indiscriminate specks.

Balanced on an end table, I cradled the ceiling dome

in one hand, unscrewed three screws a quarter inch.

Wash, rinse, repeat to reinstall.  Living room bulbs

I’d never unscrewed. Bulbs above the stove I had to

clean with vinegar. New-fangled bulbs I was afraid

to touch; they didn’t look like ideas. Bulbs allergic

to human skin, our depraved oils. I did what I could.

I began in the bedroom and ended there. My last

day. I wanted to leave the place well-lit. Every

exhibit is worth seeing.