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Laundry I've folded our lives for thirty years, underthings placed just so, left to right. Shirts, hung weatherwise tell of our lives in fabric and hue the gaily colored blouses for me separated for work or play, worn green and blue work pants for him old blue-lotion stains testifying visually to the contrariness of his equine charges. The hems are frayed in his pants cuff and my eyes fill with unexpected tears as I smooth them flat again. How long do I have left with him, my knight my love, my Buddha bellied, everloving pain in the ass! His heart, so loyal so true to me and our children, has played traitor to us all. Like these warm fuzzy brown socks, worn with usage, it may wear out forever, beyond a surgical darn. As I place his shorts in the drawer just so, I know that life seldom mends as easily as our laundry. |
Additional Notes:
Previously published in "Gatherings".
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