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.

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