Another Laundry Day

[Angela]

She has felt homeless there for more than a year.  Dealing with the stains and smells of life is the thing that ties her to the floors and walls, otherwise she might drift out the window to some place like Mississippi, a place denser and harder to understand than this house, a thought she cannot bear.  Laundry is her way of being present, yet as she folds, she travels back to being small, running through the tunnels of sheets, a tent on wires, in a sunny square of grass beside a garage.  All she could see of her mother was a shadow and ankles; she wondered if her mother had suddenly changed, and that was all she was.  Now, as she sorts, she listens to music - songs about need, trust, and zones of danger.  Another load, and she will be done.

[bolton carley]

that's kinda what i expected you to say! ;)

[Angela]

Bolton - The word "done" can surely mean more than one thing, and I'm not sure which one, or all, is relevant.  I'm leaning toward all.

[bolton carley]

the ending makes me ask a lot of questions about "done" - but laundry is a universal, isn't it?

[Toby Tucker Hecht]

This is exquisite.  Everyone can relate to this especially those of us with mothers who had laundry rituals.

[Michelle]

This is creative and just lovely.

[Gita]

I think this is one of your very best.  To be anchored by laundry in a place where one feels diconnected: I wonder how many wives -- thousands? millions? -- have felt this way.  I love running through the tunnels of sheets, a tent on wires, in a sunny square of grass.   Really well written.