You wanna hear a poem I wrote?

You're right. It's pretty early on in the life of this blog to begin testing the devotion/sense of humor of my audience by asking them to sit through poetry. And the un-rhyming kind, too. But, I'm feeling a bit full of myself right now...the dishes are done, the laundry is spinning, and my children are sharing their Barbies. And I think...yes...I see a few small planets beginning to orbit around my shining visage. So, what the heck, let's do time like the present to thin out the ranks of hangers-on, eh? Let's see who's left standing and who heads for the washroom to adjust their blue stockings.

And now...a poem.

Canticle for 2:35 P.M.

The laundry pile is no more:
every sport bra stuffed
into a drawer, every pink panty
lined-up crotch-to-crotch
in cottony majesty and I
will fling the plastic basket,
fling it down! fling it down
the basement stairs!
and sing now by the
iron’s hot glow -

"This wash is done,
this wash is done,
and Halleluiah,
this wash is done!”

I have struck a broken pose,
my hands repeating timeless
gestures, wrestling fitted sheets,
snapping T-shirts into unwrinkled
excellence, turning one last pair
of blue jeans outside-in, but
wasting not one second more
trying to match the unmatched sock,
save the unmatched sock found
skulking in a cuff; I will sacrifice
this leg garment and for once
I follow through, god dammit,
for once I ball it up and trash it,
trash the lone stocking, standing
empty-footed between me
and my warm cup of Darjeeling.

Now here is the moment.

The empty hamper moment,
the before-the-next-work-shirt,
peed-my-pants, the-cat-puked-on-
the-bed moment; I am your faithful
servant in this moment, this sock-
searching wife released from
downy hell, Oh God -

this moment of pure pleasure,
this perfect Eden moment,
this hour before the leaf was plucked
and pressed, and placed just so.


Jor Jazzar said...

Hey, this is a really good one. I particularly like the manner in which you fling the plastic basket; though, had I known the manner in which you folded your undergarments, we may never have become friends in the first place, sad to say. Oh, no, wait. Now I see what you're saying...nevermind. That's cool.

Also, is that a Catholic thing, the way you spelled halleluja? Because we Methodists spell it with a "j". ;p

nadzent said...

Josette - you are so good. I am peeing my pants...I LOVE YOUR BLOG!


Jeannine said...

To continue the theme, I don't actually fold my undergarments, I just toss them in a drawer. Though I do fold those of my children, go figure.

I plan to have "At last the laundry's done" carved across my headstone. Had I only known thatI would come to this pass, just think what an impression I could have made at the Confirmation Retreat when I was in school. So that's what I would have for an epitaph -- what would I now put on my coat of arms?

I like your poem very much.

(Just for information purposes, and because the ghost of Father Dominic is tugging at my sleeve, The "hallel" means praise, and the "ia" is the beginning of the word Yahweh, the name God said to Moses from the burning bush when Moses asked "what is your name?" Hallelujah is an alternate spelling. (Think Yaweh/Jehova). The Latin spelling of the same word is "Alleluia.", because Latin does not have a letter H.) said...


You Methodists evidentally spell a lot of things with a "j". I think you know what I mean, Mr. Jazzar.

And would you judge me by my folding technique? Don't confuse the poet with the speaker of the poem...I may not fold my underwear at all.

Okay, no, it's confessional, you caught me. ;-)

Mdme. Poetess

Hey Nancy!

Thanks for stopping by! Now, uhm...pormise you won't throw those pee-pee pants in my laundry. I'm almost done for the day.



LOL! I like that epitaph. Coat of Arms, eh...the first thing that comes to mind for my own is the outline of a woman pushing a huge rock up a hill. Or, maybe a huge washbasket.

And thanks for the FYI - Very interesting stuff! I always enjoy a good history of the word.


Her Bad Mother said...

I love you. That is all.

Blog Ping