Smudges

Visitors are coming
So I'm cleaning . . .
Just about finished . . .
Floors mopped,
Dishes done,
Bathrooms spotless, beds made . . .
Certain signs of life swept away.

And then
I came
to the glass

Our sliding glass doors
that look out to the driveway,
Covered in smudges

They screamed,
"Three little children live here!"
In perfectly preserved prints,
small lines that identify each child,
inside the shapes of small fingers and palms,
each print a little higher than the other
and a little bigger.

"We like to stand here and watch
as Daddy comes home from work!
As Mommy gets in from the grocery shopping!"
Each little lined hand-shape said.

Even nose shapes
And silly little lip-shapes
Where silly little mouths
Had made silly faces through the glass
Before tumbling into giggles.

I found it hard to wipe away the smudges,
The happy reminders that three little ones live here
And that they love
And that they watch for homecomings
Or kitties out in the yard
Or snails on the grass.

Three little children live here
And they leave their smudges
And I'm their mommy
And I'm happy about all that.