The Baptism
P Patti Masterman
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Holy, holy, holy:
The clothes agitate in warm baths,
Precise increments of suspension.
Ineloquent soaps do the heavy lifting
While I cogitate the theological dispersions
Of soil, from smooth-seamed linens
And do Sat-Nam satins, on gentle cycle.
Holy, holy, holy:
This work comes from my inner soul,
My acrylate self of clean store shelves,
And ads on television which invite
To shake out dirt, that clouds our lives;
Darkened shirt collars are a sin-
Rub the stains before they’re set.
Holy, holy, holy:
The pure folded iconography of garment:
Now let pockets testify to heaven above
That lo, they were emptied before their immersion,
The sins there were, are all washed clean.
And there's one more week of dirty living
Until the washday comes again.
Bu şiiri puanla
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