You are naked, save for your white
lace cartoon kitten underwear.
they’re all that’s left; the clothes
rise before you in a pyramid.
How did the pile grow so high,
the cotton, these wools and flannel?
You, bare, stare at the mound,
marveling as it rises skyward.
Voices echo in the hallway. Laughter,
mostly. The creeping morning sun
and our embrace keeps us warm,
here at the end of (laundry) time.
-G. Hunter
