Dozen
In a big round pot, placed on top of the stove
she heated the water, added soap and dropped
all those diapers and clothes into it for her brood,
her dozen
then hung them out to dry on the clothesline
strung from her window to a tree.
The line couldn't hold all those clothes,
she had to wait for the sunshine to dry them.
Each morning it was push and pull.
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Author's Note
mothers work so hard
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It is almost unimaginable to think how hard mothers did work. Lovely lyrical poem, it seems to embrace those mothers of yesteryear.
*
Estelle,
I adore this sneak glimpse into a mother's harsh reality. Hard work, indeed. Where would we be without our mothers?
Fave.
Estelle, you made me think of my own mom, who died 20 years ago this month...she had my six older brothers and just an old wringer washer and clothesline...this is beautifully and simply rendered
Susan,Robert, and Kathy, thanks for reading and realizing the hardships those mothers endured.
Good poem, Estelle.
Yes, indeed. Each day. Push & pull. *
This is a good piece, Estelle. Strong closing image.
so glad you liked this Sam.
Thanks.
Beautiful and weighty. I love how the sun can lift this weight.
What a scene you've conjured up. There's a timeless aura to this piece, it all fits together so well. *
yes Christopher, the sun was surly important. Thanks for reading it.
Foster, this is a timeless piece, thanks for knowing it.
oops, made a typo Christopher,
surely, not surly!!!