Casual clots, wrinkles in the mountains.
I'm folding togs into shapes that stack well.
I don't get that much help.
But, he watches
...like it has never been done before.
When we read through the tumbles,
the cries, the infamous, and the categorized.
It smells like simple soap,
it feels like it has been cooked.
It fits proportionately around my waist.
But, he says
...that he's never seen me like this before.
When the drawers slam shut,
the sheets straighten out.
When he moves closer,
these clots of wrinkles reorganize.
And, I say that he smells
...like fresh laundry on Sunday.
Author notes
I haven't written in about a year, so...it feels like fresh laundry on Sunday. 
Thanks for the inspiration!
A contest entry
- laundry day by adsaige.
300 points, ended August 14, 2008, 10 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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Judged
Glad to be of some help.
Honestly, I really enjoyed this piece. It's right along the lines of what I was looking for in this contest. And I congradulate you on making the transitions of their movements so casual and almost willowly in its graceful tone.
Despite your lack of inspiration for a year, I see you are a strongly written poetess, and I applaud you on your outstanding poetic ability. Looking forward to reading more of you, Exo!
Thank you for entering. Good Luck!
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Truly thankful. Thank you for reading my piece and rewarding me for it.
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The imagery is great, and I love how it is tethered by emotion and thought that is very relatable, very human.
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Thanks for your comment.
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Did you mean...
..."waist"?
R -
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Yes, I did. Haha, surprised that I spelled that wrong..thanks for letting me know.
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