that damp on the arms of hanging clothes on the line.
it is clean.
the breeze that lifts that damp and the sun that dries it.
a light-filled room if ever there was one.
these days my moments are like laundered shirts, damp and clean, hung up on a line.
work and chore.
rest on the line.
breezes of utility and beauty.
i would bury my face in the damp clinging until it dried and fluttered away.
i would string a line and pin up his growing tallness, nearly the height of me.
i would take a wooden clothespin to her kindness for her sister.
i would clip the dandelions handed to me from the neighbor’s yard.
i would lay down on the grass and watch each moment move and somehow take on the scent of a day.
when they pull these days out and over their heads to wear as young men and women, i hope they catch the scent of our time together.
i hope it is pleasing and clean and good to them.
because they have been that for me.
each moment. each day. each child. each friend.
pleasing, good and clean.