The sun stiffly dries the sundries

On the clothing lines this afternoon.

Just the right amount of heat

Holds the clothes and towels together

In the weathered ways I remember

From times before the dryer worked

Fine and responsibilities weren’t for me.

I like heavily starched towels set

Like camp tents in the heat

Of the day as a creator

Of shade. Somehow my clothes wear

More substantially. In my youth, I

Sometimes mistook the many repetitive, stable

Chores as family sternness when fastidiousness

Naturally reflected the years of hardiness

And want. All I often see

Is plenty. I have not been

Keeping the time. I do not

Know all the family histories informing

The caution, economy, and the fear

That was kept in the dark,

Away from me in my youth.

I was the child who was

Given the chance to finally live

As the past generations had never

Dreamed was possible without more light.