laundry room

We are things of long hours and unyeilding desolation,

Building dust, and gray. “Attire” makes a merry sound, not true

Like “laundry,” “threads,” “pairs.”

But could we be sent up through a whisper of wind

In a sudden gush, we might take flight

And yesterday’s thoughts nowehere to be found,

diminished, and forgotten, not like now

Even if we were able to find the strength,

Found the right time to make the leap,

We are soley laundry, full of holey socks

We wonder. Hope will not be lost!

Since the Red Hoddie is out of the dryer now,

We think of lukewarm water, hope to get in it

this poem was inspired by kitchenette building by gwendolyn brooks