Laundry Day by Jarrett Moseley Millie, O Millie, do you remember me? The man who traveled with cloth napkins and loved you in the great storm. -James Tate, “At The Clothesline” The keys were already dangling from the door (The morning our breakfast caught fire.) Our children pulled down the delicates from the clothesline. In that scene we were all yellow-orange or Egyptian blue I suppose. It was only a week later that you tore apart the dresses. I remember you draped them around your shoulders one by one, adrift in a world of fabric and non-resolution. :: In this version of the story you never left the house. The dogs found the dishes beneath the couch. Porcelain heads, flattened mouths painted on and a nail through the middle. When I heard you, I was still clipping your blouse on the line. There were damp green eyes in the grass beneath me. I hung there, then, too.
46 | SANSKRIT
