The Laundry Stick

I remember her washing clothes in the Maytag and the smell of hot sudsy Tide and Clorox water. The small basement windows would fog and it always felt safe – even when I got my hand caught in the wringer. Her health was never great, with years of smoking (first Viceroy, then Lark, then Eve 100's) and a wretched back, but she did make it to eighty. She called me names like “Bizzer” - which has no specific meaning other than love. All of this is gone, except for her laundry stick and of course one other thing.