The Laundered Days

I am folding days

As one folds

A bucket load of laundry

On a hot and humid

Summer afternoon—

Not careful

With the creases,

Too detached to look

For the missing

And the matching pieces,

Yet trying to make

Peace with the tedious

Rhythm of it all,

While disregarding

The growing pile

Of washed,

Unvaried minutes and hours

That could crumble

Any second;

With no end in sight!

©Aaysid

*Reposting because it never stops feeling like this!