Life
Isn’t perfect or
Easy or
Even fun
Most of the time.
We may even be
Teetering on
A real mess up ahead.
But my ability
To do laundry has
Returned and
That has to
Mean something.
A year ago
the laundry was
More like a stalker I
Couldn’t outrun.
Always there
Always watching
Always reminding me
That my survival is
Primary
The washing was easy
It usually is.
Throw a bunch of soap and
Water
And resources at something
And expect miracles
Clean
Shiny
Nice-smelling
But then comes the drying
The process of restoring
What was once lost
Because nobody wants to wear
Damp clothes
A necessary step
That takes time and
Adjustment and
Heat.
Those little cotton fibers must be so
Tired
From all the changes
Then comes the returning-to-their-home.
The cabinet or
Shelf or
Wardrobe.
(I abandoned folding years ago.)
The putting-away
The getting-ready-for-the-next-wear
The returning
That’s the hardest part.
It just sits and waits for me
It’s unnecessary to
Survival.
Clothes are clothes whether they’re
Retrieved from a closet or
The floor or
A chair or
A pile in the
Corner
But yesterday, my survival was
Not dependent on
Hyper vigilance or
Hyper focus or
Hyper detail.
So laundry could return to its
Respectful place
And, at least for one day
We have
Clean
Dried
Put-away
Laundry.
The cycle starts over
Again
Tomorrow.