Clothesline Grief
You taught me that living means taking care of others.
Your voice was smooth as mud pies,
your hands chapped from wringing water
from our laundry. Your smile was kind,
white as linen blowing in the wind.
A wicker laundry basket on your hip, broken clothespins.
I want to live. I miss the smell of dirt.
9 thoughts on "Clothesline Grief"
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Great imagery. I feel that wind.
Thank you, Wayne!
I like how this poem shows quiet emotional power and the way everyday domestic objects become vessels for love and memory. Thanks for sharing Jazmine, I have really enjoyed your writing this year!
Thank you, Jeremy. I have enjoyed your poetry sequences this year!
The imagery is great!
Thank you, John!
These images carry the weight. Great job! Reminded me of my childhood.
Thank you, Courtney!
Jazmine, I wonder how many women have poems around clotheslines? Yours is the first I’ve seen besides mine. Interestingly, mine is also about grieving.
The grief is clearly present in your images: hands chapped from wringing (an action people do while grieving); broken clothespins (like a broken heart); the smell of dirt (recalls voice smooth as mud pies).
“I want to live” juxtaposes all the images related to grief/death. Very well-crafted poem! It makes me want to read more or yours.