The Laundry Mat

I had forgotten

the laundry mat!

The ceiling fans

circulating the 110 degree

air, smelling like fabric softer

and sweat.

I had forgotten

the rust stains

on the faded yellow

washing machines

and those rolling baskets with

the poles, so you

can’t sneak them outside.

I had forgotten the

conversations and the people.

It feels like

they are the same people

each time

I go,

just wearing

different clothing.

I had forgotten the

feeling of

community–

we all fit

together,

here in this laundry mat.

She, over there,

folds  in straight piles in the corner,

he rolls up his shirts and stuffs them in a bag,

the kids play with

the coin machine.

I fanned myself

next to someone’s grandma.

Everyone is sweating, waiting,

or working

on life’s

mundane task,

as the

dryers hummm

and the spin cycles turn

on and off.

I go to the

laundry mat

only when

my washer

breaks.

I felt  today

that to spend

9/11

with

a variety of

people

in the laundry

mat

felt

somehow

just right.

 

 

 

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