Woman Ironing Poem by Olga Cabral

Woman Ironing

Rating: 3.5


I am ironing the dress in which I ran from the prom
I am ironing my favorite dresses of long ago
I am ironing the dresses I did not have
and the ones that I did have, stitched so finely of fog
I am ironing the dress of water in which I met you
I am ironing our tablecloth of sun and our coverlet of moon
I am ironing the sky
I am folding the clouds like linen
I am ironing smoke

I am ironing sad foreheads and deep wrinkles of despair
I am ironing sackcloth
I am ironing bandages
I am ironing huge damp piles of worries
I am smoothing and patting and folding and hanging over chairs to air out and dry
I am ironing the tiniest things but for whom or for what I cannot imagine
I am ironing my shadow which is ironing me.

Wednesday, February 24, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: woman
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Laurie Van Der Hart 17 April 2017

This poem is awesome! It is incredibly sad. Such unique and powerful Ideas. Did it come to you while you were ironing? Well done!

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Olga Cabral

Olga Cabral

Trinidad, Trinidad and Tobago
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