Mother showed me
how to fold undergarments
into small rectangles and triangles
so that they would stack neatly in a drawer.

I ignored her.

Mine were a tangle of silky fabric and lace
a cloud of colors from quiet beige to scarlet.
Panties, bras, half slips and full ones
teddies when they were in style
the odd thong belonging to a daughter
I refused to tutor in the art of laundry.

On Monday the daughter was sharing tea
with me in the kitchen.
She pushed aside a basket of clean clothes
to make room for cups, said
“Jeez, Mom, isn’t that the way
Grandma used to fold underwear?”

Poetry Monday