The Folding Time

In those days Ma boiled the sheets
in a copper tub on the blue-gas stove
then wrung them damp and hung them long
on the white lines across the back yard.
And then came the folding time: she at one end,
I at the other. We folded once and pulled
And she snapped the sheet to wave a flow
from her to me to her and walked together
to meet at the middle to take the ends
and I to bow at the bottom side
and back again we pulled to stretch
the cloth and snap like a loud wet kiss
and make the wave burst to our laughter
in the ritual dance until the surprise
of calm when we touched fingers at the warm
white folds upon her uplifted hands.

—Jack LaZebnik

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