blood and dirt

dear natey,
that was very 
servant hearted  of you 
to clean the 
entire house 
while i slept in the room 
above. 
curled in a ball with 
cramps and blood-
i never try and 
purposely use it 
as an excuse to 
check out
but oftentimes i do, 
if i am honest. 
and you are 
patient. 
i left more than half 
the dishes piled 
on the counter 
i promised to finish 
my portion 
in washing them 
but i quit in the middle 
and just went to bed. 
you didn't say a word or 
remind me of 
my promise
or lash at me in anger,
but rolled up your sleeves 
and washed 
every single 
dish, 
pan, 
cup, 
and fork
[repeat this X 60]
and let me rest. 

no one will have seen 
what you have done.
no one will know 
that you did loads and 
loads of laundry, 
vacuumed all the carpets downstairs. 
no one knows that 
you pulled out 
all of my nasty ratty black matted hair 
from the upstairs 
bathroom shower drain, 
or that you 
deep cleaned 
all the surfaces
with bleach. 

but i will know. i do know. 
and every single time you serve me 
in this way, 
i feel more loved than i have 
before you did this, 
i feel cherished, 
cared for, 
and also a little guilty, 
even though i know 
you wouldn't want me 
to feel this way. 

i am thankful. 
i am humbled 
i don't deserve it. 
not ever. 
not now. 
not even in the future 
when you'll
probably  
do it again. 

thank you, my love. 
thank you for 
entering the 
unglamorous, 
crusty dim parts, 
my weak areas of 
letting things slide apart, 
and restoring our home 
to shalom. 

i notice. i notice. 
and i can not thank you enough.