I Stop Writing the Poem
by Tess Gallagher

I stop writing the poem
to fold the clothes. No matter who lives
or who dies, I am still a woman.
I’ll always have plenty to do.
I bring the arms of his shirt
together. Nothing can stop
our tenderness. I’ll get back
to the poem. I’ll get back to being
a woman. But for now
there’s a shirt, a giant shirt
in my hands, and somewhere a small girl
standing next to her mother
watching to see how it’s done.

This is my unfolded laundry, adorned with my own two sleeping dogs. Some weeks, it takes me an awfully long time to get around to tackling this chore. Sometimes I manage to get the laundry out of the dryer and place it on my bed for folding only to take so long to actually get around to it that the dogs are able to curl up and fall asleep on the (once) clean clothes.

Despite my frequent struggle to actually carve out time to do this job, I can’t say I dislike folding. I love the feeling of warm, freshly-cleaned clothes in my hands, especially my husband’s tattered white t-shirts that have been worn to a silky sheen. I like the simplicity of this job, the gentle pause of it, the way in which it is possible to also sip coffee and watch house hunters online and still get it done. I like that it is still possible to love this way, in the way my mother loved me, and hers before that.

Nothing can stop our tenderness. I’ll get back to the poem.

Poetry Wednesday