Laundry Day

Not much of a gardener,
but seems I’m adept
at growing dirty clothes –
the shirt I planted
Monday, having now
sprouted many offshoots,
the fruit heavy and pungent
overflowing the hamper,
begging to be picked.

Nothing golden
about this skill however,
more melancholy than
rewarding, the hours
dedicated to folding
and putting away
akin to self-castigation –
only temporarily satisfying.

Suppose I can’t complain;
a day’s toil has merit
and even if the harvest
reaps no foodstuffs
nor the fragrance
of fresh cut flowers,
I am at very least
assured to be presentable
should going out be an option.
(Inspired by this day’s chore and the daily prompts of Fandango:  melancholy, Ragtag Community: gold, and Daily Addictions: dedicate.  Thanks for dropping by.)


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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

17 thoughts on “Laundry Day”

  1. LOVE the metaphor of the hamper as a garden! I can imagine the clothes, colorful but rumpled like poppies — and I can relate to the tedium of folding and putting away. Fortunately, you have a rich inner life so your mind can fly while you do these things, like a flock of starlings soaring above the fields. Wonderful work, V.J.

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  2. I love the way you wrote this and I always love it when I’m done folding the last piece of clothing after a day of laundry…Boy do they accumulate real fast!

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