The first load was all sheets, pillowcases,
dish towels, white handkerchiefs,
and underwear. I went out of the screen door

with the heavy wicker basket and carried it
up the hill to the lilacs and the granary,
my feet bare in the wet grass.

The empty wash lines dangled against the sky.
One cloud lifted away. I dropped
the basket under the first line and went

to get the canvas bag of clothespins.
After that I was all arms stretching laundry
from point to point, calculating the distance

sheet by sheet, already imagining the baskets
filled with t-shirts, pajamas, jeans,
long gray socks and red bandanas.

All morning I went up and down the hill
as the wind filled and fluttered the wash
on the line and dried the grass beneath my feet.

In the woods beyond the fence posts,
the cows went by—a fleet of
black and white ships setting sail.