Washing Day

she never once minded the dust,

as he carried them both into

town, his mind filled with thoughts

of discounted hardware.

she may have even wished him

the worst, as his levi's tumbled

and crashed in endless waves,

losing their color by degrees,

as the years broke down like oil.

she spooned off lumps of Sarah's homemade

alone and crossthreaded on a folding table,

as he tossed baling wire and made due

with yesterday's donut and machined coffee.

As soon as Nathan's growed,

she shuddered as she folded, but

there was so much left to unspoken

chance, as the road back stayed

just as dry as they had left it.

it would be years before

she learned the same screen

door that opens wide on

the one side can stay so

desperately shut on the other.