“Oh let there be nothing on earth but laundry” -Richard Wilbur, Love Calls Us to the Things of This World

And if the tenderness of your shirt 
on the clothesline isn’t enough
still it recalls to me the days
of tiny shirts flying in place.

And when predictive text says
embrace is the next word
must we
embrace the shirts and shorts

warm and golden on the line? 
Who can predict
the next world? Hold
a sock to your cheek,
remember the days when the only

prediction was sunshine
or not, dive in the ocean
or not.

How do we hold
one another in the warmth
of this world, embrace

the nowness of laundry
its smell of sun-warmth
and ozone, caring nothing
for the next word or even tomorrow.