Laundry

You’re in the bedroom,

I’m in the kitchen,

Folding the linens like my mother told me to.

If I’m homesick, I find home in holding you.

If you look at me without saying you love me, I’ll pile to the floor,

With the dust, dead hair, wonder if you care,

Meet my doubt with reassurance,

Say those words I’m so allured in,

The shirt I threw on was your girls before.

Does it sit in your drawer?

You love me, but did you love her more?

I’ll never leave a piece behind, be naked for you all the time.

If you see me in some bad light and don’t think I’m pretty,

Keep that shit to yourself, my photo on the highest shelf,

To think back fondly when the next girl sorts through your laundry.