Clouds are Water
Grams is on her knees bent
over the washing basin, rubbing a
linen blouse upon the galvanized
steel ribs of the washboard. I try to
open the window, to holler, to ask
her why she doesn't just throw the
clothes in the washing machine, but
the window won't budge. I watch
her scrub--plunge, lift, plunge. She
is laughing. Her cheeks are
clouds and clouds are water.
16 November 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
I love that she's laughing!
Post a Comment