One by one,
she hangs them on a line:
wet pants, wet shirts,
wet sheets, wet skirts
With wet hands she assembles them
side by side with equal, if not fair-
spaces in between
Carefully,
she arranges their future symmetry
When she sees they're ready
and fit to let leave
she retreats inside and waits
approximates the waiting and waits
for them
while they drip in the sun
while they slap and flap clumsily, undone.
She waits and lets them take their time
waits for them to dry and wave like flags, proud and high
waits for the sheets to finally billow in the wind, alive
waits for the pants to lose their deepened hues
waits for the skirts and shirts to break loose
from the heavy dampness and choose
to dance
again.
And while she waits,
she watches the sky
watches for her only bane
watches out for the coming of rain
wishes dark clouds forget to pass by,
take another route
or
just
take
their
time
wishes nothing goes awry
and when it does
she rushes outside
opens her palms to the sky
and asks
why?
---
back to Poetry[2011]
