Clothes drop on the floor
A quick sigh
Should have put it in the Cart
Could have fallen anyways
And on the wheels
The floor is better
But the bottom of the shoes touch
Pee from the bathrooms
Cigarette buds from the floor
"Hose down the bottom part of the shoes" anti-bacterial wipes on the floor
I'm walking on invisible paper
In a little pile by the bathroom,
a collection of my clothing engraved.
Though the cloth is cyclically exchanged,
the pile serves as vowed remain.
I say I keep them there in case,
but we both know it's promised trace
that any time I leave this place
there is a never-ending return.
We do not live together,
but I stay there every night.
I am always here, so I keep a small collection of clothing that I leave by the bathroom door. A wall area in which I have claimed for my belongings. I keep them there in case I need to change, yes, but it is also symbolic of my return any time I leave. It is assurance that no matter what happens, I HAVE to get my things back. Almost like a promised excuse.
The clothing is "engraved" because I always leave them there, and even if I have to wash them, I leave a variety of articles "cyclically exchanged" so that the wall is never vacant.
All of the end words, except the first and the last line, are mainly like-rhyme. I used this to articulate the fluidity yet imperfectness of our love. I used words such as, "engraved, vowed, promised" to describe the pile of clothing because they are also used to describe marriage, wedding rings, etc. I am nineteen and marriage is not in my current desires, but this little pile of clothing is what I use to promise the continuation of my love. This poem is short and a pile of clothes is simple to illustrate how easy and simple our love is. We are not hung up on technicalities or societal structure but rather a realistic, honest bond.
A love as honest as laundry.
Lines 5-7 rhyme perfectly to illustrate the rhythm that two souls create as time goes on.
The kind of love that’s aching...
I watch days fold
Into another like laundry.
Time never ends just like it,
So I measure your absence
in pant seams I press together.
It’s simple to do,
Making straight, clear-cut lines
Two halves just have to join together.
I still love you.
You do, too.
Our union should be
as simple as this routine.
How long though, until I see you?
And If then, If we go back?
Will you fold again?
If you do, I swear
to be fair to my heart
I'll lay this love out to dry.
I can't take you back.
(c) 2014 Marlena
you and me
is not reality
and its getting
away from me
i'm just a trick
your mirrors and smoke
bring me a schwarma platter
and a diet coke
if i am nothing and
never have been
then how come
when you do my laundry
you get your vs
and my dress shirts
all mixed in??
My rhymes are ten pairs of socks
Mixed up with the cycles of thoughts
Dried thoroughly piles of laundry
Lying not folded waiting for other loads
Of words and sentences to join them
Bleeding color on whites and shrinking silk
Of shared ideas and meaning
Irregular patterns on underwear
Understanding myself and family
Really? Is that all there is?
Oh please somebody help me with this!
I am drowning here on gentle settings
Letting go of general traditions of speech
And slowly digressing to the basement
This laundry needs to be done
Surely there's another way to write about it!
I'll find it on the bottom of the basket.