Emilia

One by one,
she hangs them on a line:
wet pants, wet shirts, 

wet sheets, wet skirts
With wet hands she assembles them
side by side with equal, if not fair-

spaces in between
Carefully, 

she arranges their future symmetry
When she sees they're ready 
and fit to let leave
she retreats inside and waits 
approximates the waiting and waits
for them
while they drip in the sun
while they slap and flap clumsily, undone.

She waits and lets them take their time

     waits for them to dry and wave like flags, proud and high
     waits for the sheets to finally billow in the wind, alive
     waits for the pants to lose their deepened hues
     waits for the skirts and shirts to break loose
          from the heavy dampness and choose
          to dance

          again.

And while she waits,
she watches the sky
watches for her only bane

watches out for the coming of rain
          wishes dark clouds forget to pass by,
          take another route 
          or 
          
          just 
          
          take
          
          their
          
          time


     wishes nothing goes awry
     and when it does
     she rushes outside
     opens her palms to the sky
     and asks
why?



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