Barbara Costas-Biggs

laundry-list.jpg

 

Laundry List

 

I am vacuuming.

I am Princess Leia.

I am tasting the marinara for sweetness.

I am loading the dishwasher.

Listening down the stairs for the dryer’s buzz.

Pouring glasses of milk.

I am filling the dogs’ dishes.

I am watching maple leaves fall.

I am picking up crayons.

I am calling the pharmacy.

Scheduling dentist appointments.

Checking my email.

Covering the tender plants.

I am ironing shirts

(and this is a waste of time, I know,

but tomorrow my children have school pictures,

so I am dragging out the

ironing board, a wedding gift —

yes, a damn wedding gift —

to make sure all the imperfections

are smoothed. Rarely is one of my son’s

vocabulary words. Momma rarely irons, he says

to the back of my bent head).

I have a Valium hidden in my wallet.

I have the maple leaves.

I have an appointment for a tattoo.

I have mustard greens to cut.

I have the sweet marinara.

I have selective hearing.

I have a new brown bottle that rattles with the cure.

I am not the Den Mother, the Room Mother or

the Mother of All Mothers.

 

I have lists in my head.

I will smooth out the imperfections.

The tender plants might make it.

 

 

Photo Credit: Staff

Editor