folding laundry

you could never
quite figure
why your mother
seemed to like
hanging
laundry on
the line, standing
in the april
sun. you watched
her from the window
going out
with a basket
to fold
the crisp white
sheets, the towels,
dried in the breeze.
her children's
shirts and pants.
your sister's
dresses.
she seemed to lose
herself,
become calm and distant.
alone
in her thoughts
despite the chaos
around her.
and now as you
stand in your own
laundry room,
taking warm clothes
from the dryer,
folding them one
after another.
placing them into
a basket,
you understand.