There are clothes hanging on a clothes line 
Someone’s dirty laundry now made clean
garments are worn thin
being scrubbed and wrung and squeezed 
the life dripping back into the wash bin
Only to be poured out again
new water needed for the rinse 
I walk among them 
stainless and stiff 
The washtub waits for me 
a backwards baptism 
I kneel before it 
staring at my reflection 
not fighting the hand that pushes against the back of my head 
I wonder how clean I’ll get