I realize now that I have been living poetry all my life. I fold clothes. In a good year I have even ironed clothes and I mend clothes. Mary Oliver lives her poems in nature. I have only recently had the time to do this. But I have for most of my life lived the poetry of repetitive tasks – domestic actions of putting my life in order.
Where there was rarely rhyme there was always reason. It was its own form of free verse. To think that I had somehow missed the concept of freedom in the execution of household chores makes me wonder why I didn’t clean the bathroom more often.
I’ll let that sink in 🙂