Lenten Sonnet #6

Acedia

She’s had her thyroid levels checked. All normal.

Still she wakes up tired. The sunlight’s weight

On the quilt’s like that of a heavy, slow, diurnal

Predator – a sloth? Do sloths eat meat? –

Waiting for her to stir. The house, too,

Crouches all around her like a pride

Of vacuum cleaners. It's a hostile petting zoo

Where she gets to proffer her gritty cup of Tide

To the sulking washer. Even her teeth demand

Attention. Brush brush brush. Up-down, up-down.

Bathe the dreary body. Lift the hand

So the comb falls through the hair. But first, this nightgown:

Why take it off? Why dress as if the day

Expected anything? Why attempt it? Why – be?