I’ve been searching for the image and the words that would make my mundane day into something poetic and blog-worthy. My images are folded and wrinkled, I lift them, shake out their folds, spread them carefully, and my mind slides over and over them, smoothing as the iron under my hand smoothed shirts today: the collar must be folded down, the pleat in the back ironed straight. I place my smoothed images on hangars, buttoning their topmost buttons, to hang them in a dim closet until they are ready to be worn. But it is night, and they are not ready now.
©2009 by Stacy Nott