Mama’s Washday Blues

Mama’s Washday Blues

Sort the clothes, whites from darks as you sorted the shells on the beach in Anguilla.

Pour on the hot water like you were having a hot sea bath.

Add soap like the froth of the sea’s waves rolling back and forth.

Mama, can you hear the sea as you squelch, squash and squeeze the clothes between those hands. 

Hands that dragged that suitcase across the English cobbled streets to find a home.

Dissolve ‘Blue’ to rinse and brighten the whites to add a touch of the azure sea of back home.

Wring the clothes like you wring out your wages to last the month.

Clothes hung billowing on the washing line in the grey, cold wind, as Mama remembers the sails of the boats floating in the bright hot Caribbean sun.

Remember Mama you were only going to be here for five years.

Mary