Rippling, buffeting,
billowing sheets of memories,
white as white can be,
hung with mother’s voice, and father’s
vanilla cigarette scents
melting together into my nose,
a smell of home and summer
of outside and clean laundry,
whistled songs and spontaneous skips
through that lush green grass.
We used to sing and laugh,
laundry becoming less of a chore
and more of a family event
when we all talked
and played with the wooden clothesline
hangers,
suddenly ducks for the little ones,
or means of pinches and tickles for the not-as-little-ones.
The clothesline used to take up the
whole distance
from the trees to the house,
and I used to run with my hands
stretched upwards,
dodging between the sheets,
pure and blinding in their white,
when everyone used to chase me
with giggles and hair
billowing out behind them
like the clothes in the wind.
So many memories
taken from the scent of bleach and
Tide detergent,
so many nostalgias
of suns reflected off of soft white blankets
turning and churning
and seeming to dance in the light with the wind.
So many memories of the
clothesline, and its pure inhabitants,
slowly forgotten,
as we leave the blue skies
and white cloths
to put them in the drier.
Spoiler
Written with a prompt- I like it personally, but the end just feels abrupt, and I can't decide if that's a good thing or not. Thoughts?
