Up the flue the brush is pushed.
Matt black soot absorbs light: only in specks, for light is not easily consumed.
Lit, the fire hacks thick smoke.
The soot still bothers it, still catches in the throat of the house.
Outside, gluts of rain slick the roads, bog the fields.
A brash wind bullies tall trees.
-How else to dry the washed clothes?
Lit, the fire stays.


klahanie said…
Ah Lily,

Your Rayburn, your articulation, reminiscent of my friends who live in Wales and dry their clothes in such a way.

Suze said…
Light is not easily consumed!
Lisa Southard said…
Gary- Wales isn't too far from here. Plenty rain and rural style living :-)
Suze- this is one of those lines that I was almost surprised to write. Rather pleased with it!

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