We're Housewives Only

Something new, something better: Housewives live by a pattern of life that remains a numbing comforter to them through their time in it.Work gets listed daily, as an activity, as a humming unto every job they set out to do. A tune that appeals first as pleasing and promising,plays the same music over and over...until silence descends. Every nook, every corner has volumes to tell. If washing vessels jangle and clean, then so do the slow spinning thump in the washing machine.Fans rustle and take the spring from the air outside. Fridge forms small, sharp icicles and buttoned on to defrost, drops after pittering drop. As the smoke from the raging buses settle comfortably dusty on the AC, hanging on to an open window, the house is neatly placed in the middle of sounds of daily music. Her sensitivities heighten in her cooking space, as the stir of something new, something creative, gets the hand and mind brainstorming.The aroma has simmered down to mere smell, cooking every day, all day, filling voids and sacs, nothingness is leftover. This hush and sigh, an unnoticed high, starts from the deep hollows of the woman within as she suppresses them at the end of her usual day. The creative spirit in her calls her incessantly...to open those thoughts out and dust them free. Each housewife has a higher call to ascend to. Not mute herself into comforting silence.And every nook and every neat corner is no place to fix her mind. She is married to all of life.