WASHING STOCKINGS..............................................................................................................................ELIJAH B. PRINGLE, III

Washing Stockings

Poem by elijah b. pringle, III

Around Midnight

the same fashion Daddy’s arms would rest on the torn edge of his seldom used easy chair which sat lonely in a corner trying to be unseen Mom’s arms would rest on the lip of the basin bending over a sink made white with Comex

water would dance between strong sturdy hands as she scrubbed vigorously ‘puff of smoke’ stockin’s to move the dirt and dust collected from the week when she would fix the kids for school and please her man after the day’s work for money to close the gap

between can’t afford and thrift shop bargains second handed stuff that was given another chance the ritual of familiar made us all comfortable we knew it was Saturday soon to be Sunday Mommy’s steps were bunions and corns then

the bottom of her feet black from the walks barefooted because her shoes were too tight and so was money and I needed new sneakers just so the white kids wouldn’t laugh at me or we needed something, always something

but Ivory soap lathers up extremely well when rubbed against used nylon stockings about to be glory bound in eight hours that’s after they had dried in front of the heat vent even in summer the ritual meant everything