Sunday, May 22, 2011

Past Scents

I remember waking up to the smell of Monday morning laundry

Clorox and the thrub, thrub, thrubbing of the old wringer washer

Grape jelly on toast, crumbs caught on an old cookie tray

You washing sheets with a big stick before hanging them out to dry.


Ben gay smeared on a furrowed brow, tied up in a cotton scarf

You taught me life in a class I couldn’t play hooky from

Trudging forward, determined, focused, never straying

Hanging sheets one after the other and forcing the lines up with poles to hold them.


Guilty of the jelly joys smeared over my face, flinging crumbs with carefree zest

Bittersweet pleasure watering my eyes, but never questioning your wisdom

I swept up the remains of my sins with a broom twice as tall as I was.

Memories burned into my nose from fumes that produced pristine white sheets.


Your words were gospel. Your actions more sacred even than that.

Adoring you, sopping up jelly and soap, sweeping up crumbs, holding clothespins

Pressing my nose into its soft surface as you put on your face and left for work.

I wished I was a sheet, pressed close to your chest, left warm in the sun.

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