Drying weather

The day came quiet, the promise of heat
knocking the breath out of it. stealing

into this early stillness;
barley spreads it's satin counterpane
you could reach out and smooth the ripples
with the span of your hands
big-bellied cows lift their faces into the breeze
-making me part of the herd-
God must love me

drying weather, mother called it
pegging out sheets

boiled to bone, scoured of tears
blood, bile and every other sin

furling and snapping, stinking of bleach
until sun baked stiff, she'd bring them in

not carefully; coal grimed fingers
soft grey ash from a crumpled browning fag
and old, old dirt seamed in her knuckles

folding them, folding again until
they are small and tight as bandages
dirty marks concealed in folds
within folds, stacked on dusty slats
crushed back into their permitted space
you'd think people couldn't guess