.jpg)
My eyes adjust to root cellar darkness—
dank walls lined with planks of abandoned jars.
Webs stretch over windowsills where geraniums
pressed pale leaves against minimal light all winter long.
I shake dust from a tattered bag filled with clothespins
and carry it up the sweating stairs to daylight;
My beloved pup, Mustang Sally, waits.
Between clothesline poles tangled in vines,
more wooden pins float in rows, suspended in air.
I hang pillowcases and sheets, forget-me-not-blue;
they melt in cloudless skies.
After Sally scrambl
