The Laundry’s Done

The Laundry's Done

Dear Chicano,
I’m on the way to bed now.
All of the work is done that I feel like doing;
the chickens are up, the dog is fed, the boys are gently snoring (a miracle in itself),
the laundry’s done (you know I hated that chore),
I even made a pecan crumble sweet potato pie.

I will lie down in my bed, in silence, and imagine I am there, with you,
in your dingy, cement tomb, with no rug, no quilt, no real pillows, no curtains…
how I used to fuss over making everything match; with contrasting paint, stenciling,
maybe a mural in the baby’s room…you would paint each wall, trim each molding, change every fixture…

we would sit on nights like this in the porch swing,
and you would talk about your long day at work, the lazy trail of cigarette smoke
touching your face as we watched the stars blink,
as I blink back tears…

I went to church today.

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