Clothesline

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She remembers the clothesline just off the kitchen window.

 

Lined against the bushes of lilacs all blooming in the spring.

 

Straight lines of coiled wire touching brown decaying wood post.

 

Each week she would see the lady of the house hang lovely colors,

 

different shapes and sizes of shirts and pants and little girl’s dresses.

 

Blues would mix with the pinks and reds, but the whites were always

 

separate from the others so not to allow the dye to run on them. 

 

Deep in the summer south the hot wind would bend and sway

 

against the flag of colors left out to dry until right before afternoon sun.

 

She then would gather them and fold and lay them in a straw basket

 

bringing them into the house; the smell would be of the out of doors.

copyrighted:  2016 CMM