Baby

Things are in order, finally. It took me a while, but I got everything out of their boxes and put away in the apartment. I started cleaning. Vacuumed the floors. Wiped off the kitchen counters. Cleaned the bathroom. I even cleaned behind the toilet. The apartment became my apartment. My apartment. Curt G. Jimenez's apartment.

The sun came out. I went on a walk without the dogs. My walk. A walk just for Curt G. Jimenez. I walked in the cemetery. The light was severe. Strange shadows. Trees striped with sunlight. I came across a headstone that read: Baby. That's it. Baby. It was Baby's headstone. Just Baby. Baby. And it was both the saddest and most beautiful thing I'd seen in a long while because no one knew Baby but Baby's mother and father and that must have been long ago. Mom and Dad were somewhere else because Baby was alone on a plot for a grown man or woman. Baby was tiny. Baby was cold in earth. Just think, Baby's mom must have wept and cried out Baby. Baby. My Baby, when Baby still had skin over Baby's eyes, before the earth took Baby's skin, then organs, as its own, and left Baby's bones for the worms and the clay to cling onto.

When I got home. To my apartment. The smell of cleanliness overwhelmed me. I wished that I could pour all the liquid in the spray bottles over me. Baptize me with all-purpose cleaner. Cleanse me. Wash me. Make me clean. And pure. Baby.