When a bad woman does the housework

“A little water clears us of this deed” – Lady Macbeth

***

 

Monday

I was fair of face

a washing of my linen o

with all the week to dry

 

All white, House white

My castle is a pure place, an orderly place.  No husband, he’s away at war. No children either, so I can keep my household clean.

Sort garments stained by life into mounds.  Separate delicate from coarse.  Light from dark.

 

Tuesday

I was full of grace

a hanging out my linen o

and not so much awry

 

Dimity, Off white, Mizzle

One day, I hope to have children and I’ll make sweet little dimity coverlets for their cots.  But is this all there is? Sitting by the fire while I’m waited on? Watching the horizon to see when he’s returning?

Ah Dunsinane. Home sweet home.

Feel the slap, slap, slap of wet cloth in a stiff breeze sting across cheeks.

 

Wednesday

I was full of woe

a starching of my linen o

and not so much to blame

 

Savage ground, Pale Hound, Yellowcake, Churlish green

He’s sent me a letter and he’s got a plan. To kill the king, to become the king. But will we dare?  I don’t think he’s got the balls to do it. Not without my permission, not without my persuasion. Coward.

When I look at the power given to men - to the idiots they are, my vision goes so green, I can hardly see.

Bleach out the splashes and splatterings , the overspill of overindulgence.  There, there, all gone now.

 

Thursday

I had far to go,

an ironing of my linen o

for now I know

I wash for shame

 

New white, Shaded white

Maybe my purity’s slipping. I wonder whether I’ve ever really had it, whether I was always somewhat off white.

Judge me not on what I wear for I look upon myself with chagrin.

 

Friday

I was loving and giving

a folding of my linen o

a wash in need, the deed

 

 Mouse’s back, Mole’s breath, Incarnadine

In the midnight moment when we’re waiting to kill the king, I see my mouse of a husband become a hunter.  Afterwards, we start at every sound. Every tiny, sudden, insignificant sound.

We’re both covered in blood, dressed in it and dancing. We look so stylish in our red!

Raw hands, time soaked up and poured down the drain with the scum and grey slime.

This is what I have become.

 

Saturday

I worked hard for my living

an airing of my linen o

a slut indeed

 

Blackened, Dead Salmon, Arsenic, Pelt

It’s incredible to see how quickly his flesh changes, how quickly it becomes grey.  My thoughts are poisoned and I see the old man everywhere, in his regal robes.  Dressed in another man's fur, my husband in his borrowed robes.

The chance remark, lightly meant. Cut, cut, cut.  You bleed, you bleed.

 

Sunday

I was fair and wise

and good in every way

a wearing of my linen o

 

Bone, Black Blue, Pitch Black

I need to wash my hands of his blood and his gristle.  Darkness is a colour, so out damned spot.

God at the washboard scrubbing out sins.  Can’t live life without getting dirty.

 

(Thanks to Farrow and Ball for their paint names)

 

Domestic Detail in the House of Dreams