Ironing Lady

Common everyday clothes,

Tied loosely in a bundle.

From it the ironing lady

Pulls out a kerchief

And glides the iron, its coals

Aglow, along the edges,

Making the creased valleys

Disappear under her hand.

A shirt’s next. She begins

With the sleeves, then comes

To the craggy collar, then to

The plains of the front and back,

Slowing down as she

Nears the plastic buttons

And the wilderness

Between them. A pair

Of blue jeans is uphill

All the way. The iron hisses

And gets breathless

As she goes back and forth

Over the denim, occasionally

Wetting it with a damp rag.

In a corner of the table,

The ironed clothes pile up,

Each fold a stanza break,

Till she’s folded the last one,

Finishing the manuscript.