The archaeological dig through
my laundry hamper,
Alternating layers; shorts
and t-shirts,
Sweats and sweatshirts.
Our spring brings warm and
cold.
Sun sandwiched between rainy,
windy days.
Shorts one day, fleecy shirts
and jeans the next.
I struggle for the metaphor.
The blurred line between seasons?
Life’s highs and lows?
The meaninglessness of
average?
Perhaps it is just that we
dress ourselves
To face each day
Based on the predicted
weather,
Never anticipating
The messiness
The hurt
The dirt
The ache.
These stains saturate the
clothes;
The limp textured textile layers
Piled, one day to the next.
Kindly discarded.
Just laundry in the hamper.
