Clothesline

Just got my clothes all washed up,
ready to dry. Perfect day
for clothes-hanging, although
moments ago the sun hid
among cloud blankets.
Wind chilled my wet hands

as I hung a week’s worth
of memories selected, arrayed properly:
the tee I wore going to a hotel function,
the bloodied socks caused
by three-month old abrasions,
the hankie I used for crying out loud

(and for honking sea-green mucus into),
some running stitches
hastily keeping my pants shorter,
frays on skinny jeans
out of clumsy hands playing
with scissors, the get-well-soon shirt

with distinguished signatures, my secret
stains on a panty hem, the yellowed
armpits, the gloomy pinks, the bright blues
fading blacks—still no sun? The chill
passes what seemed to be buntings,
welcoming next week’s festivities to come.

—-
Erika Navaja is a student of writing in UP Mindanao.