While Folding the Clothes
Folding the clothes
for a rubber soul,
the woman sleeps,
the children tucked in tight.
“In my life”
whispers through me
like a soft embrace.
All the years
gather in this moment—
the boy’s jeans,
the little girl’s socks,
and dozens of tiny things
that Jill wears and tosses aside.
I cry too easily, not
just now,
but sometimes.
