The Washing Machine

 

The Washing Machine

The washing machine spins
With each passing year

At first their clothes were tiny
They grew with every revolution

Onesies tumbling into T-shirts tumbling into jeans
The motion of the dryer whirring and rumbling––ding!
I tuck their clothes into drawers like memories

The cycle quickened
As the seasons shifted

Blood stains from scraped knees
Mud streaks from soccer games
Chocolate birthday cake smudged
Into my family’s fabric

One day the pile faded, leaving me
With empty laundry baskets
And the quiet folding that lay on my heart