Freshly laundered clothes
drying in the sun,
blowing in the wind
in the backyard of my memory.
I loved the smell of fresh air and starch
as I ran back and forth
through the lines of clean clothes…
until my mother caught me.
Ida Werrett
Added: on Tuesday, November 3rd, 2009 at 12:22 pm | Viewed: 86 times, 1 so far today | Comments (3)
Hi Ida, I like the poem — the images — the sight, the smell and even the feel of the clothes on the line. It’s wonderful how we can learn to use our sense by watching children at play, even when we are the children playing in the childhood of our memories. Your mother seems like a kill-joy in the poem — but it’s hard to blame her, now that we’re the adults and not the children messing up the laundry — if I remember myself — my hands and face would not have been very clean. Thanks for the poem and the memory. Jerry
hello Ida, this is so fresh, so vivid, the work of poerty shares the essential, the memories and the life in its deep beauty, I can really smell the clothes and feel the wind, and hear your mother and the poem is strong in effects and communion…I enjoyed it very much.
This is so true and reminiscent of my boyhood days, and you’ve captured those memories so well that I can sense the smell of starch, and see the white sheets and colorful clothes flapping in the breeze! I also hear Mother’s stern, clear voice—Boy, don’t you dare get your smutty hands on these clothes! Your subtle way of telling this with such few words makes for a masterpiece, Ida, and I really appreciate the poem.
Art
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
Don't have an account with American Poems yet? Register now!
Poem Info
Poet:Ida Werrett Poem:Clotheslines Viewed: 86 times, 1 so far today Added: on Tuesday, November 3rd, 2009 at 12:22 pm
Comments (3)
November 3rd, 2009 at 12:50 pm
Hi Ida, I like the poem — the images — the sight, the smell and even the feel of the clothes on the line. It’s wonderful how we can learn to use our sense by watching children at play, even when we are the children playing in the childhood of our memories. Your mother seems like a kill-joy in the poem — but it’s hard to blame her, now that we’re the adults and not the children messing up the laundry — if I remember myself — my hands and face would not have been very clean. Thanks for the poem and the memory. Jerry
November 3rd, 2009 at 1:36 pm
hello Ida, this is so fresh, so vivid, the work of poerty shares the essential, the memories and the life in its deep beauty, I can really smell the clothes and feel the wind, and hear your mother and the poem is strong in effects and communion…I enjoyed it very much.
regards
yann
November 3rd, 2009 at 8:52 pm
This is so true and reminiscent of my boyhood days, and you’ve captured those memories so well that I can sense the smell of starch, and see the white sheets and colorful clothes flapping in the breeze! I also hear Mother’s stern, clear voice—Boy, don’t you dare get your smutty hands on these clothes!
Your subtle way of telling this with such few words makes for a masterpiece, Ida, and I really appreciate the poem.
Art