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July 1, 2012, vol 8, no 2

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Shelly Bryant


Laundered

The red bucket sloshes, wetting the floor. She squats. She hovers over the water, giving the clothes a spirited wring.

She glances skyward, her dripping fingers sheltering her eyes. She shakes her head, with the release of a sighed, Aiyah.

Scrubbing done, hangings complete, she stretches, grunts, and moves into cooler interior regions, hoping for a few moments' rest.

blanket's floral print
green fields with shrieks of orange
just out of sun's reach




crane