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Tag Archives: laundry poems
she knows bliss-fully nothing yet of ticket stubs to movies she’s never seen and crumpled-number napkinsand wayward lockets , but nobody told her not to check his pants pockets. ::
Her name tag is a lie she carries to the laundromat every Thursday night like clockwork. It’s “Thirsty Thursday” right next door, but she’s drowned her days in a glass before and the rum-ble, tumble of the dryer is more healing than the clink of ice and sloppy … Continue reading
they carry it along in their pinch and sway,the way the breeze flaps in bloomers and secrets. we sing along, wistful while we work, hanging out between a knot of sparrows and a curious sky. when the basket’s full (of sun-spilled warmth, of laughter), we count our ever-afters … Continue reading
morning. i am still listening to the moon. when we cannot find the day’s center, we change the sheets, create a ballooned fort of warmth and clothes-pinned sun. nothing else is solvable or solvent, perhaps. but we marvel in … Continue reading
(a sevenling) .. it’s whites day, so she’s just whistlin’ and dancin’ and washin’ his skivvies. there’s a quarter, a dime and a lipsticked note lying in the left front pocket of his jeans. tomorrow: the blues. … Continue reading
… we sort and we spot and we soak and we spin and we dry and we fold and we put ………away and then (cuz we’re wearin’ it while we’re doin’ it), we do it all over again. .. … Continue reading
.. it’s not about the dirty laundry or the origami of us – the barely held together creases and the places we’ve broken, and broken through. It’s not even about the reality: that you hold all the cards. Okay, it’s … Continue reading
. two hours later (and a whole load of crap from you), and i’m left with whiter whites, and the feeling of need -ing to fold my ……………………self in two. ..