Wet clothes on a clothesline
dripping water, dripping sweat
hanging out in the sun to dry
from hands putting them out to rest

Arms extend, contract, extend
as new clothes join the old on the line
hands clip them up, and spread them out
it is so peaceful in the morning at nine

All these women, they’re all my sisters
they’re all my mothers, all my lovers
these women who every morning try
to place the clothes neatly on the line to dry

The rope round my neck is also a line
as I sit in the sun and sputter and die
I choke on my emotions while breakfast readies
I stretch out my feet, to look and sigh

Winter mornings I sit in my balcony
a balcony that is five floors high
and observe all the clotheslines around me
lines dripping with wet clothes to dry

lines dripping with wet clothes to dry

lines dripping… wet clothes, dry…

lines…