qarrtsiluni

by Mara Mills

…Why don’t you write said my muse
as i folded his laundry.
…A poem a story why not a novel
my hands smoothed the creases
he came closer
i laid the boxer shorts atop the bleach whitened hill
…You don’t seem to write anymore.
i chose a tee shirt
closer still eyes solemnly questioning
caressing its front i tame the tides of fabric
…Remember when you used to write…
gently i shape the sculpture of its sleeves
…Those poems. he stretched out his arms for emphasis
upon them i laid my poem fresh and clean.

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Mara Mills is a stage director, writer, and teacher. Her specialty is theatre in odd places and combining the arts in performance.