My mind should be on better things.
Folding laundry, feeling as if
I were still watching
clothes
spin.

That dryer can hold anything,
memories, paranoia,
hope,
but it can never dry my clothes;

they're still wet.

I want to put them on,
feel their warmth.

Things aren’t like they used to be.
My clothes are damp,
While I fold them
I’m left to my memories.