Ode to the Laundrywoman (for Iya Feliza and Nitz)

She takes my basket of dirty clothes -
An Offering,

a bouquet of hibiscus or

like sins forgiven.

anticipation to wear again
that pretty little white dress -

baring my biceps,

jasmine of cotton around my neck.
they come home to me

hand-washed,

rinsed from their inequities
and sad memories.

now sun-kissed,
wind-blown and

cotton fibers pressed -
side-to-side top-to-bottom folded.
Her smile demure and warm as the daffodil sun

Her delicate hands I hold in mine,  A Pray'r -

gratitude overflowing
notwithstanding next load coming.