in tiny rivulets

I wring and wring
the thing; hot blood
streaming in tiny
rivulets beading,
burning my hands.
I wring till almost dry.

Strong arms shake
up down out, uncurling
smooth and one safety
pin at a time I hang
my heart to dry,
hot summer breeze

blowing. Billowing
in the wind, clean
scent of bleach stinging
and the sun warm
across my face, soft,
bright in my eyes.


hot tea and white corn tortillas

It used to be biscuits,
homemade. Not the fluffiest things
but drenched in butter.

It soothed my heart
to mix the dough and pound soft,
roll and cut and pinch

the tidbit sides left for
me to eat like a kid licking the
bowl of some sweet.

It has always been tea
hot with sugar, now raw cause
my stomach no longer

handles the white
stuff. Sickens at that and meat
and oils and I feel

old sometimes but
sooth my soul with hot tea
and white corn tortillas.