Member Poem

Hanging the Wash

By Donna Mork Reed

I carry the basket of damp clothes
Into the yard where the wash line stood.
This was a simple task my mom knows
But somehow, I wondered if I could.
I began to hang the longer things,
Pants and such near the poles at each end.
For they were too long for the center
Where the clothes lines hung down in a bend.
The sun streaming down and the soft breeze
Spotlighted my attentive deed.
From the outside I’m sure I looked fine.
No one could see my internal need.
Do socks hang together as a pair
Or each separate by ankle?  By toe?
Which way was the right way like mother
To hang the wet clothes?  I want to know.
I press on, reflecting on memories
From long ago when I watched mom dear
And carried Oh so helpful for her
The bag of loose clothes pins, keeping near.
Long-sleeved shirts by the shoulders,
Boxers and briefs by the waistband.
The clothes wave in the fresh clean air
Soaking in the scent of all the land.
At last I hang towels sharing a pin.
The peony bobbed its approval.
I left the clothes hanging on the line
To dry and await their removal.
I admire my work from the porch
As the clothes sway gently in the breeze.
And the grass and the flowers join in
With the stately silver maple trees.         

First published in the Saturday Writers: Writing Sense-ably: Anthology #10 2017