THE CLOTHESLINE 1954

Out on the Cape

My brother’s sear sucker shorts

the ones my mother bought through the Sears catalog

The table cloth, red & white checkered

blue jeans too thick to go through the wringer, all crinkled

hanging next to my grey poodle skirt from Aunt Simonne in New York

My sister Robin’s white blouse with lace collar

pillow cases that need to be ironed and our father’s handkerchiefs

There are the socks, wool that had to be washed by hand

blue work shirts, buttons that broke when they went through the wringer

How flat the clothes got, pressed by those rollers!

A pink rayon slip with adjustable straps that I am feeling so grown up to wear

In between – hidden from view - my first bra, blue

the one Barbara Dennis gave me (I am so thankful)

There are diapers, long white diapers by the score

and long sleeved baby t-shirts with tabs to pin the diapers to

There are little sweet pea nightgowns with a draw string on the bottom

And when the wind blew, blew all those clothes on that line

the family cloth, it sung like crazy

And when the frost came around, as it would every winter

those clothes, the lot of them, they froze up stiff

And could break in half just by the bending

That’s how brittle everything would get that time of year