December 18

comments 16

There was freedom
in those hills–

we carried out
a bit with us

with wind-burnt
faces and slightly

wild gazes, but
it fades so fast–

this the hard part
of a return,

a sense of loss
that these piles

of rancid laundry
do nothing to assuage.


  1. Am I the ONLY one who enjoys doing laundry?! No one else I know loves doing it as much as me. I was told I should write a poem about how much I love doing laundry… 🙂


  2. Intriguing poem. There was traveling and the feel of adventure before the laundry (which I hate doing, folding is fine). Can you tell me more about your poem’s first half?


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