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Laundry

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.

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