The house is silent.
My boys--young and old
are out in the world,
leaving me solitary
in my laundry room chapel.
The sun is there, uninvited
playing with its motes.
I have filled the washer's
vast emptiness to the rim
with the secret invisible
socially unacceptable
DIRT
(such an unpoetic word!)
there must be no dirt
in a properly run house.
Dirt is sin
I am the priestess
giving absolution
Sitting on an upturned box
hypnotized, I watch the giant eye
in which every garment
dances in turn.
My domestic mind
is purified as it watches.
Here at last is one task
with a start and an end.
The clothes are clean
all is forgiven
my mind is spotless again
I am ready to...
I am ready to dry.
-
Author:
Berthold Lippel (
Offline) - Published: June 6th, 2016 23:59
- Comment from author about the poem: Written for my neighbor Maria who meditates during laundry--so she tells me...
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 103
Offline)
Comments2
YES BERTHOLD - There is something cathartic about washing clothes - especially for the washer (M or F). In third World Countries when one sees someone (usually a lady) washing the clothes "Down bythe Riverside" you can tell by her expression and the sigh of relief (when the task is complete) that her soul has been cleansed as well ! A well crafted poem and a very CLEAN one too ! BRIAN
Dirty Old Bert,
I meditate with a hot iron overloaded with steaming thoughts.
Can you cool my iron down.??🚒
I love it.Send you later en price my analysis(!) about E.Bishop's "Insomnia" and my "Journey to
Luna-cy".... I hope you'd enjoy my last poem,
Maria's cousin.😉
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