Upon your clothesline I have been stretched for somewhere between hours and minutes. The rope burns my skin, my weight sags from pins.
I can feel wrinkles forming where I'm pinched and pulled, and an out-of-place heaviness rests on my drooping shoulders.
I do not belong here, among your delicates, your laces and silks. I deserve nothing more than to be soaked in the wash bin with graying rags.
Yet you have seen something in me, a rarity of fabric, of color. Something that is deserving of special detergent and air-drying.
And in your presence, the bad thoughts and negativity slowly evaporates, leaving me like drip after drip of tearful water.