Rita Dove

Taking In Wash - Poem by Rita Dove

Papa called her Pearl when he came home
drunk, swaying as if the wind touched
only him. Towards winter his skin paled,
buckeye to ginger root, cold drawing
the yellow out. The Cherokee in him,
Mama said. Mama never changed:
when the dog crawled under the stove
and the back gate slammed, Mama hid
the laundry. Sheba barked as she barked
in snow or clover, a spoiled and ornery bitch.

She was Papa's girl, black though she was. Once,
in winter, she walked through a dream
all the way down the stairs
to stop at a mirror, a beast
with stricken eyes
who screamed the house awake. Tonight

every light hums, the kitchen arctic
with sheets. Papa is making the hankies
sail. Her foot upon a silk
stitched rose, she waits
until he turns, his smile sliding all over.
Mama a tight dark fist.
Touch that child

and I'll cut you down
just like the cedar of Lebanon.

Topic(s) of this poem: house

Comments about Taking In Wash by Rita Dove

  • Dr Dillip K Swain (1/29/2018 6:24:00 PM)

    Well penned! Liked the couplet most! Thanks for sharing....10 (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • (3/18/2015 8:24:00 AM)

    A great and well-woven piece. I rate it 10/10! (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Poem Edited: Wednesday, March 18, 2015

[Report Error]