There is a spot on my skirt
It could only have arrived there
By way of the bucket
I filled with water and bleach
To clean your floors.

We are made of moments
That sometimes make themselves memories -
Funny how that one should have chosen
To become a stain -
A permanent reminder.

It was that night
You held me especially close
And under your breath you told me
You wished you could
Love away my pain.

We are made of moments
That sometimes make themselves memories.
My pain will not be loved away
Nor should it.
We have stains to remind us.

Let me be a moment -
Or better yet, a memory.

Stains bring joy in their own ways
I'll clean your floors if you hold me close.
We'll build a fire, and, for a while
Warm ourselves there -
Then sweep the ashes into a pile.

Or, if we're lucky, we'll keep adding fuel.

Our pain should never be loved away
No.
We are better to make maps of all our stains
To show ourselves which ways to go,
And not to go.

Let's just build a fire,
And, for a while,
Warm ourselves there.

It will be a moment –
Or better yet, a memory.