Woman Hanging Out the Sheets

[sonnet of mine now five years old, enjoy.]

Woman Hanging Out the Sheets

Flap flap the washing flies
To meet the starting hail.
Close the door on love and hang
The key upon the nail.
– Elizabeth Riddell, ‘Suburban Song’ (1950)

How many of us have set our spinnakers
billowing out from these white sheets
domestic Santa Marias of fantasy
imagining our new Americas of release

painted dark daydreams on eyebright
canvasses dripping danger to the drying sun,
buried desires inside these flapping shrouds
keening unheard stories to indifferent clouds?

A few no doubt. Others peg and listen
to the silence between the trees
deepening dappled light that glistens

its undulating pointillisms
over the opening horizons
of some inner shore.


~ by Peter Lach-Newinsky on April 9, 2012.

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