Clotheslines / Yvonne Higgins Leach

Pulled haphazardly
from the plastic bin
and fingered with a clip
to the line, the bodiless
forms linger in the coastal
weather-beaten air, half-wet,
yet light enough that
the shirtsleeve gestures
and the trick of light
on the blouse articulates
an earthy shade.
A slight breeze
and the diapers tilt,
the skirt shivers,
and the jeans disregard it all
with their heavy weight.
These snippets are chance
encounters in my mind.
I meet whole families
and we become friends.
I wish we used clotheslines
in my country.