Wash Day


Saturday is washday for Mami and me
down by the river that flows to the sea.
We carry the baskets high on our hips.
We juggle the soap, the scrub board, and clips.

River--age stones to the other side.
Where sunrays glimmer on a whisper of shade.
And Mami and me tie our hair up in braids.

Then WHACK! I smack the clothes on the rocks
to scare out all dirt and grassy spots.
Mami scrubs them up and down,
and we both swirl them round and round.

Sparkling white, and river clean
the clothes smell like fresh-air dreams.
We clip them safe to bushes and trees
to dry in the sun and flap in the breeze.
Later, under the moon's blue light
Mami and me smooth the wrinkled clothes right.
We fold them into neat little squares
and take them back home for all to wear.

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