The Line

The Line

Who’s to say why a modern girl

Should be so moved

By socks on a line,

Bath towels damp and clothespinned,

Dancing like old friends on a parquet floor

Swinging like children on rusty monkey bars

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Who will unfold the reasons

She opens inside out

At the sight of a white polyester fitted sheet

Billowing and blowing full of Costa Rican breeze –

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Why she inhales more deeply,

Or stands more quietly,

In the presence of the mundane,

Fabric doing what fabric must do,

Under the midday sun.

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Who can explain

The rushing river of abundance

In stretching out a task

One

------Shirt

--------------At

---------------------A

--------------------------Time

About the pleasure of being spun clean

And sundried slow.

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About the joy of hanging by a thread,

Old underwear flung against the clouds

For all the world to see.

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And! the crisp harmonic contrast:

What our hands have made

Alongside

What His hands have made.

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Who’s to say, really,

That she shouldn’t just stay

A few minutes more --

Arms long and loose –

In a

------

standing still moment

-------

Old-fashioned awe

Of laundry on a line.

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