by Carol Brennan King June 1, 2020
Hanging the Laundry
The wind was right.
The sun was right.
June 1, the first day of meteorological summer,
the date was right.
So I hung up sheets and pillowcases
dishtowels and dishcloths
bath towels and washcloths.
I need to work up to underwear.
Maybe next week.
I freed the dried clothes
from the pins, red and blue and yellow
plastic ones and some old wooden clothespins
beyond their prime,
and I hugged the windblown softness
to my face to breathe in the faint
fresh smell of laundry soap and the
breath of God woven into the warp and woof
of the sheets and towels and washcloths
and I whispered Thank you that I could.