Laundry

We are in the laundry room as your favorite
flannel whizzes past my head.
The one with red squares and blue stripes.
Two missing snaps.

The smell of dryer sheets
is comforting and I
am trying not to listen
to your howls.

I am leaning against
the washer and the way I stare
you might as well be making
a sandwich.

Laying the cold cuts
on the left slice
of white, and evenly spreading
your mustard on the right.

You want me to react,
pull my hair, wimper, walk away.

I’ve never learned how
to do that. I’ve only learned
how to stare,
but if you put your head to my chest,
you’ll hear my heart knows how to scream.

"Screamer" Digital Painting by Jewel Martin