Take your age and

tear it to shreds –

wrinkles in your soul

mean more to me than

wrinkles in your flesh.

You are a thing of curtains,

gold and transparent,

like someone soaked

you in candlelight;

looking glass, I see the

world through your

damp material.

Who washed you but

forgot to hang you up to dry?

All your creases intact,

beads of water on your skin

that never took the time

to evaporate – I like you better

with them anyway.

Wrung out, you would be

so much less.


3 thoughts on “Laundry

      1. You’re welcome, Natalie.

        I love your praise of wrinkles. This is unusual in modern America. The wrinkles on my face are fine. 🙂 I came by them honestly.

        I spent a couple of hours this afternoon pushing an iron around on line-dried cotton sheets because I love the feel and smell of them. I give myself the gift of smooth. I breathe the combination of fresh sea air and hot-iron-on-cotton. 🙂

Thoughts? I love those.

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