The Laundry Room
She measures his time
With the soft sounds of the machines,
The whirr,
The small thumps,
The humming.
Her husband
Sleeps in their darkened room
Just down the hall
Room 217
From my mother’s,
Room 221.
Before-
Her five-bedroom
And all the kids
The big laundry room
Where she spent
Hours with the scents
And touches
Fluffing, folding
Carefully into piles-
Like she does now
But with one small load
Over and over
Watching and guarding
Carefully keeping his moments
Going one at a time
With the turning
And tumbling
While he sleeps.
Copyright © Douglas Brown | Year Posted 2022
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