Monday, September 4, 2017

Laundry hanging at the end of August

Put the linen away from the sun, less it fades
the colors evaporate to their eternal mother
sunshine and terrain

dust particle on your exposed ankles
exposed knees bending over the basket
watching behind you for a glaring eye

a red eye my teta used to say is an eye that wants no good
yet quiet not envious or jealous
a red eye is a difficult eye; clouded by short-sight

lift the blankets over your head
it is fine if you do not see where the line meets with the sky
because your garments are presented to the world now

exposed, sun kissed,
the details of your life as you do your hanging
your hand is soft but you hand with firmness
old t-shits, socks, and crucified lovers never thought of again

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