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03 April, 2021: Laundry

Read a Poem


By Rachel Tramonte

God does the laundry. He uses Tide
because his mother used Tide.
He separates the darks from the lights
like he separated the boys from the girls
God has undergarments. He wears wool socks
in winter, and darns them himself.
This winter morning he stands bare foot
on the tile floor of his apartment in Queens
checking to see if the towels he used to soak up
the city’s tears after the last massacre are dry.
“Laundry” by Rachel Tramonte, from The Broken Plate. 2018. Used by permission of the author.
Rachel Tramonte lives with her partner and their two daughters in Cleveland. Her poetry has appeared in The American Journal of Poetry, SLAB, The Broken Plate, The Alembic, Green Hills Literary Lantern, Carbon Culture Review, Broad River Review and other journals.

Write a Poem

Write a poem comparing the hands of two people, such as two lovers, your mother and father, or two musicians.
His hands always fascinated me.
They were stronger than his confidence, more composed than his true nature.
My hands were so small next to his and reflected the timid nature of my soul.
My hands told the truth.
His hands belied his inner struggles, hid his inner demons, denied his inner search.
My hands asked for protection.
His hands promised it, but in the end could not deliver because they were merely a actors on a false stage.
4/7/2021 10:32:48 AM

Neither could speak-
One lost the ability
The other not yet learned
Telling stories 8 decades apart

Once vibrant now bare limbs
I recall the gentle touch
When afraid to drop me, She carried me on a pillow
Her care told stores of the cooking and baking
Now arthritic and fragile-
Bare like snapping twigs in the dead of winter
Cracked, lined, now lifeless
I will never hold these hands again

These small ones of the new millennium
Will carry on that story
Tiny, newly still lifeless
Will soon busy themselves
Too small to hold
She grips my finger as she looks up
I will hold these hands as they grow, many times-
Even as she squirms away-
The way her great-grandma held mine
The tree continues
Another branch to climb
As winter ended one
And spring bore another
4/5/2021 7:48:42 PM

"He uses Tide/Because his mother used Tide"--nice, Rachel, both tidal and tidy!
4/5/2021 10:25:49 AM

my poem:

two hands,
cautiously resting too close,
knuckles brushing an unspoken question
that will remain
4/4/2021 7:07:41 PM

Sierra Polsinelli--your Hands poem was beautiful! Keep writing!
4/4/2021 5:28:14 PM

Sierra Polsinelli

The hands were
Healing hands
Not smooth nor rough
Not hot nor cold
When they touched
the energy flowed … a palpable force

The hands were
farmers hands
calloused and sun-worn
lined, not with cares
but with caring
The hands were artists hands
fine, delicate,
ethereal hands
They channeled
Spirit into Form.

The hands were
scared hands
consecrated by Love
They ordained
and Spirit flowed through them.

These hands
held out before me
for decades they have
worked, comforted and healed.
They are the first to touch,
to hold,
to greet.

Human touch
still sacred
and unique.
4/3/2021 7:42:02 PM

Bill 57
Did I miss a massacre in Queens?
4/3/2021 7:14:09 PM

(for) Tovli
Day 3 prompt:

Hands: How Women Balance Their Families (A Palindrome)

could not get it to post--see at:

Happy Poetry Month
4/3/2021 2:40:28 PM

Santosh Kalhan
Two paintings

The Scream to Mona Lisa
“Why do always smile enigmatically?
You smile when the crowds press towards you
You smile when no one is there
You smile when it is light, you smile when it is dark
You smile even behind bulletproof glass!
Why? Why? Enough to make one want to scream.”
The Mona Lisa to the Scream
“Why do you constantly scream?
Not becoming at all!
Don’t you feel your head might explode?
Careful Dear, it’s making you look skeletal!
It’s perfect that we are apart
You in Oslo, me in Paris
So I can continue to smile and
You can continue to scream.”
4/3/2021 10:42:33 AM

"He separates the darks from the lights
like he separated the boys from the girls"
I can't decide if this is a positive or negative reflection upon God. I almost believe it's negative because God has to soak up the tears from the last massacre which I assume is caused by hate against a specific group of people.
4/3/2021 9:51:37 AM

READ + WRITE: 30 Days of Poetry is a collaboration between Cuyahoga County Public Library and poet Diane Kendig. Our thanks go to Diane and the poets of Northeast Ohio who allowed us to share their poetry.