The Ironing Board

gray0328

 

in the corner she kept it folded  

quiet metal legs waiting to stretch  

beside torn rags and cleaning sprays  

where years of work rested unseen  

 

she drew it out with care each time  

the weight of love balanced in her arms  

her hands steady as unyielding roots  

the board a stage for wrinkled lives  

 

the iron hissed like a whispered prayer  

steam rising to smooth the chaos  

my small clothes transformed beneath her hands  

lines and creases erased by her tenderness  

 

every school morning began here with her  

an act of love pressed into fabric  

the smell of heat and crisp perfection lingered  

mama zil’s touch stitched into my memory

  • Author: gray0328 (Offline Offline)
  • Published: July 3rd, 2025 14:03
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 14
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Comments +

Comments1

  • sorenbarrett

    My mother had the same board as did my wife and those smells and memories are ironed into my memory as well. What a nice poem of nostalgia and pressed feelings of the past long stored.

    • Doggerel Dave

      For me it was an old bread board etched with the carving of many a loaf before the advent of sliced bread.
      Nostalgia carved deep in your poem. Thanks.

      • sorenbarrett

        Dave did those etchings leave wrinkles in your pressed clothes and if not were there bread crumbs on them?

        • Doggerel Dave

          Nah - I just never bothered to take 'em off. Wot else was there for lunch if not the bread crumbs...?

          Let's keep this going - might help Gray up the Trending Now ladder to greater exposure.

          • sorenbarrett

            That's what I like about you Dave a big heart

            • Doggerel Dave

              Glad You approve, Soren.

              • sorenbarrett

                I do indeed



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