Taking the carpeted back alley
past doors closed against early morning
past bronze banks of mail boxes
to the laundromat ~
not on a Main Street ~
but in the sculpted basement
where cars park underground
where machinery runs the elevator
under houses with different names ~
condos, suites or apartments ~
are seldom recognized
as the homes that they truly are.
“Home is where we tie one end of the thread of life.”
~ Martin Buxbaum
** This piece was inspired by going to the laundry room this morning - the only peace I could find is that I now have clean clothes - but I was unable to include the word 'peace'!
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