The Poetry of Laundry

An Ode for Ironing

(by Pablo Neruda)

Poetry is white

it comes dripping out of the water

it gets wrinkled and piles up

We have to stretch out the skin of this planet

We have to iron the sea in its whiteness

The hands go on and on

and so things are made

the hands make the world every day

fire unites with steel

linen, canvas and calico come back

from combat in the laundry

and from the light a dove is born

purity comes back from the soap suds.

***

Today, find the poetry in whatever you have been called to do.  Perform your day with the grace of a ballet dancer.  Fill your thoughts with gratitude.  

Namaste.