Folding Laundry by Jenny O’Grady

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Folding Laundry

Think of how smart I’d be
if I didn’t know the inside of every
shirt you own.

That I can choose a ball of fabric
from the basket and know,
like some weight-guessing carnie,
its proper pile on the floor, simply
from the ridges and tags and
thinning cotton spots,
is obscene.

I once kept equations,
Promising math and poetic riddles,
Answers and details and
Cleverness beyond bound.

Now, each synapse
snaps to attention, at
the wrinkle of your
collar. Memory
recalls
proper care
instructions,
indelible as a
Sharpie stain.

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