Writing exercise 10/14

She folds her fingers the way she
presses his laundry. The collar is
first.--always, he tells her but
can't do it himself. Can barely change himself.
Agonies are one of my changes of garments.

Sometimes the starch sizzles.
She sits on her hands to keep from shaking
ironing them flat beneath her.
He paces in a kitchen where the two used
to cook dinner but now she just bakes resentment. 350 degrees.
It goes well with dinner. The seeds

came from the garden, after all.
Sometimes she reads there but mostly
she sneezes where the pollen settles and
remembers she is allergic to this house.
Earth! You seem to look for something in my hands.

And at a glance she took the knife and earth's advice,
back to the kitchen where blood boils and dishes break.