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

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