128 Readings | 2 Ratings
Laundromat
Waiting for me to finish folding, she
read Southern Living, spun her cane.
If she wanted help she would ask, I supposed,
but I told her anyway out of the goodness
of my guilt,
Ma’am these dryers are empty,
pointing to the top row. She looked up from her
magazine. I could see the starburst of blue
spider-webbed across her forehead.
She stopped spinning and spoke, I can’t reach
those, she said, I’ve got a problem
with my equilibrium.
What I might have said was Don’t we all,
but instead I nodded, looked at the floor, helped
haul her wet sweat-suits to the dryers, apologizing
for not doing so earlier, whole time thinking
how lucky I was
that I never saw my mother reach
that age, how she would do laundry downstairs
in the room with the window that looked out
onto my childhood,
the lake that would freeze
past the docks during winter, and I’d walk
to the brink, lie down on the ice and dip
my hand in the water, feel the cold
on my stomach, flat and solid, but shifting.
read Southern Living, spun her cane.
If she wanted help she would ask, I supposed,
but I told her anyway out of the goodness
of my guilt,
Ma’am these dryers are empty,
pointing to the top row. She looked up from her
magazine. I could see the starburst of blue
spider-webbed across her forehead.
She stopped spinning and spoke, I can’t reach
those, she said, I’ve got a problem
with my equilibrium.
What I might have said was Don’t we all,
but instead I nodded, looked at the floor, helped
haul her wet sweat-suits to the dryers, apologizing
for not doing so earlier, whole time thinking
how lucky I was
that I never saw my mother reach
that age, how she would do laundry downstairs
in the room with the window that looked out
onto my childhood,
the lake that would freeze
past the docks during winter, and I’d walk
to the brink, lie down on the ice and dip
my hand in the water, feel the cold
on my stomach, flat and solid, but shifting.
Posted 06/24/10