small pleasures in laundry

Catching April

I hang out linens

on a bright raw morning.

The sun sneers,

unwilling to warm up to me

or the season,

so I retreat with moist numb thumbs.

All day I hear the sharp snap of sheets

whipping in the cold spring wind

that tries to rip them from the line.

Dark stick silhouettes

claw along tangled cotton,

but orange cases roundly pillow

with the season’s spite and glow

in a row of summer moons.

In the afternoon I bring them inside,

dry and warm,

and fold up the sweet clear air

caught within their threads.

by HMMooreNiver