The measuring cup filled

with water rests

on the ironing board that waits

 

for the moment when she begins.

She stands to press wrinkles out,

press creases in his khakis,

 

to smooth the collars

of the button-up shirts

in his well-appointed closet.

 

Red and purple veins marble

my mother’s legs,

her feet swell with fluid.

 

Back and forth

her practiced arm glides. 

She sets the iron upright,

 

slips the shirtfront

over the end of the board.

Back and forth.

 

Back and forth,

she fills the reservoir

and bends to the basket.

 

Still a pile unironed.

A shrug of her shoulders

as the iron tips forward.

 

Her eyes steal away

as steam rises from cotton.

 

 

© by Gail Goepfert.

Used with the author’s permission.