Hanging the Laundry: a spring poem

by Carol Brennan King June 1, 2020

All Dry

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.

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