Writing on the Wall

A heavy load lugged from house to garden
in February’s low-lit heat. A winter days blue sky
shows up between twists of cloth I hang to dry.

Shirts flapping, white sheets snapping
waving rectangles clap for freedom.
escape restrictions, domestic order,
an enclosed life, in them my spirit flies.

Later I pull off pegs, shake out towels,
smell their rough fragrance;
scent sea and waterfalls expanding
in their wind blown folds. I place
them within the baskets simple weave,

 I hold the handles easy grip, and sit it
with a flick, comfortably upon my hip.