Homemaking
Me, I see, fish-eyeon the domed dryer door.
Round-bellied, yet thinner
than the bulging
glass I'm smeared across.
Pregnant with his repetitions;
the turning of his clothes.
Drum-bound battle
pitched in a restless firebox.
Broadly expectant I wait
until combat slows
to hot impotent clothes.
Then I deliver sock after sock
gasping in the heat.
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--Liz Linton |