by Bailey Merlin

Wrinkled

We were put in the washing
machine, sanitized; hot
water seared out love germs,

wrung us out, hanged
us on the clothesline.
Flopped in the wind,
silent aside from dripping;
resentment bleached us
spotty and ragged,

made us useful for nothing
more than mopping messes,
which wasted us weary
until we couldn’t lay
folded in the drawer

together. Molded resentment,
gave rank smell,
forced others away,
keeping us alone,
frayed fibers tangled.

– – – – –

 

Bailey Merlin is a fiction candidate in Butler University’s MFA program. She leads writing for wellness programs in local hospitals and schools. She pretends to enjoy literary fiction in front of her friends and strangers but really prefers historical romance paperbacks over everything else.

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