Laundry and Enlightenment

the sheets hang like tired ghosts,
draped over the line, sagging, waiting.
I watch them move, slow, lazy,
like they know something I don’t.

the sun beats down,
soap and sweat mix in the air.
I take a breath, deep and steady,
the wind hums something almost holy.

maybe this is enlightenment—
pinning up the mundane,
watching it sway,
waiting for something to rise.

but then the wind picks up,
a shirt flies off the line,
lands in the dirt,
so much for transcendence.

Colombo, Sri Lanka

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