I Stop Writing the Poem
to fold the clothes. No matter who lives
or who dies, I'm still a woman.
I'll always have plenty to do.
I bring the arms of his shirt
together. Nothing can stop
our tenderness. I'll get back to being
a woman. but for now
there's a shirt, a giant shirt
in my hands, and somewhere a small girl
standing next to her mother
watching to see how it's done.
Tess Gallagher
wow. I remember helping my mom. She would let me iron the handkerchiefs and the pillow slips
ReplyDeleteShe had an old pop bottle with some kind of cap on the top (like a salt shaker) and that is how she "sprinkled" the clothes before she ironed. No steam irons then - or at least she didn't have one.
i loved the smell that would rise up when the hot iron first made contact.
wonderful sandy
ReplyDeleteI love that poem. It brings back memories
ReplyDelete