Because you were still there between
Those threads wanting
To take the shape
Of your body
Whispering to me
In your sleepy voice
At two in the morning,
I washed our comforter
In the bathtub: it had ceased to do
What it was meant and
Was the chore that needed doing
By my hands alone

I ran water
Hot and steaming
Leaned my weight,
Straight armed and heavy
Punched the paisley pattern down under suds
Drowning out those juices of our love making;
The scent of your neck

I pulled the plug at last
Watched what was left of you
Circle the drain disappearing
into the eventuality
Of the river

I smoothed the cloth
Bathed it in fresh sunlight
Snapped and folded
What had seemed so large
And terrible a task
Into a small neat bundle
And placed it in the closet

Every woman does her laundry in due time
When you sit quiet
by any river
You hear talk of it