A serenade of loose thoughts follows; 
some that resonate 
while others resemble the flickering orange  
box-light above double doors, 
I am human and fickle, 
I notice the blustery, exhilarating,  
free flow 
of white bedlinen on the washing line. 

It’s undeniably the mind that falters; 
five minutes into the business of laundering  
and I am led to contemplate 
the fabric of my life— 
did I send out the emails last night,
what if the tomatoes are rotten, 
if only my lipstick shade   
accentuated my cheekbones then all
would be forgiven, 
for now, I will wait for the clothes  
to come out. 

A lady’s private wash mustn’t hang  
outside in the wind, 
it contains truths spoken in clandestine 
meetings with a loved one, 
we offer our day’s errands  
and hope against all odds that they will  
suffice, five minutes, 
is all it takes for the pulse to become 
vigorous– 
what is this devilry that whites always 
get meshed with the colored? 

But oh, there is joy to be found in clean 
laundry, fragrance alone  
gives rise to determination,  
I raise my arms full of soap and prayer
every Wednesday  
and hope for the best–
there is much to do before the sun goes down.

 

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest 

Posted for Open Link Night #364 @dVerse Poets Pub