Connie Post: Iron Will

When the years were lean
my mother
ironed the clothing of others
to make ends meet
 
she pressed through the day
when my father was gone
working two jobs
 
I watched her 
smooth the history 
out of each rumpled seam
 
as the steam rose
from the fabric 
I understood how
precision
lives the quiet life of rage 
 
I asked her often
“when are you going to be done”
but she never answered
 
the days bled into years
of beatings
followed by the imperative séance of silence
 
I left home young 
my car full of short skirts and wrinkled blouses
 
as the decades passed
I turned away
 
but sometimes
I still see her, standing there
fastening a floral apron
tripping on the cord of her own life
rising
falling
putting garments back on their hangers
adjusting the collars 
following the crease lines
just so 

Copyright 2020 Connie Post. From Prime Meridian by Connie Post.