Another resident of the grass strip at the edge of
the field. An old ringer washing machine. Nestled
amid the field mice and the crows who have no
need it seems for laundry. I somehow doubt it was
actually easy.
"It has to be loved the way a laundress loves her linens,
the way she moves
her hands caressing the fine muslins
knowing their warp and woof,
like a lover coaxing, or a mother praising.
It has to be loved as if
it were embroidered
with flowers and birds and two joined hearts upon it.
It has to be stretched and stroked.
It has to be celebrated.
O
this great beloved world and all the creatures in it.
It has to be
spread out, the skin of this planet."
from
Planet Earth
P.K. Page
"Oh, let there be nothing on
earth but laundry,
Nothing but rosy hands in the rising
steam
And clear dances done in the sight of
heaven."
from
Love Calls Us To The Things Of This World
Richard Wilbur