Ironing the hankies

I’ve done his shirts. Now I’m on the hankies.

I learnt on these. My mother thought I couldn’t harm

the plain white squares. He had plenty anyway.

First you flatten out and heat away the creases,

then fold in half, do both sides, fold again,

ending with a steaming, neatly cornered wedge.

Clean hankies conjure up his optimistic mornings:

watering the plants before setting off for work

humming with vitality, redolent of soap.

Now there’s not much sense in being optimistic.

All that’s left to hope for – a pain-free, sudden end.

In the meantime I continue ironing the hankies,

pressing all my love into worn white cotton.

 

©Virginia Rounding, 1994

First published in Understanding 6, 1996