Wash Day

Wash Day short poem

Photo by chatirygirl

When I was a little girl, wash day was always a big event.
Grandma didn’t own a washer or dryer.
She washed her clothes in a big cast iron wash pot.
I remember that we had to get wood to put around the pot.
She would strike the match and light the wood.
The fire would get very hot and eventually the water would boil.
Never would you see clothes come out so crisp and clean.
We always had a big wash tub ready to rinse the clothes.
We had to hand wring them and place them on a line.
I still remember the sound of sheets flapping in the air.
Crisp and white, they would smell delightful on my bed.
This is all just a memory now of days long gone,
But as long as I live, I will always remember—Wash Day.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of

Imperfect Day

Imperfect Day long poem

Roses are red Violets are blue My day wasn’t perfect And neither were you I fell to the ground I scraped my knee I dropped my books I caught my headphones I missed the bus My phone died I bombed

Doom’s Day

Doom’s Day short poem

The rapture was on prowl to get the believers. You knew what you should not have known about the baby blue. Aphasia, experiences an impulsive violence, beyond the dead. Bionic hands to capture the moment of swapping uremia with swastika.

One Day

One Day long poem

I never knew that one day would be there When I would ask my existence from you One day I would beg you to apply vermilion on my forehead To name my child, to change my identity.. One day that

Happy Mother’s Day

Happy Mothers Day short poem

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY Intelligent man says, I feel it is a special day It is not my birthday It is mother’s day When our daughter came to bring us happiness, I felt it, A special day Children truly excited to

Sonnet #2: Hot, New Summer Day

Sonnet #2: Hot, New Summer Day sonnet poems

’tis a playing field for many kinds out in the arena, to discern the companionship of the puissant sun ’tis a hot, new summer day , blithe and sound maketh thou run, run, run… syrupy voice of nightingale, fills candied