That blanket that spins in the drum
bears secrets that only my lips
are longing for. As the washer hums
and grunts, the lavender strips
of cloth underneath my fingers sigh
when the brush strikes them with fury.
He chose to sidestep these empty eyes.
Now I stand, blanketed in worry.
edited after initial posting
2 thoughts on “Wash Day”
Lovely poem. Very strong!
Thank you kindly! 🙂