they traipse down hills to the river loaded;
loaded
with dirty clothes, balanced on heads, in tubs,
tubs
to hold the babies while working
working
to get the huge loads clean—slamm-ing,
massag-ing
on smooth washing stones—toning muscles
muscling
out stubborn dirt ’till limp;
limp
enough for two to wring out—
out
go frustrations accumulated all week
weak
the qualms become after singing to the wind
the wind,
floats qualms down the river;
with light steps, they return up hills loaded
Copyright ©️ selmamartin 2025
“Set wide the window. Let me drink the day.” ~ Edith Wharton
Attempting two prompts:
(and at completion, I come to think this is a hit-or-miss attempt for the poetics prompt. Oh well, I will not digress this time). This is the poem that visited me today.
- Host Dora’s dVerse Poetics prompt-Reimagining the Familiar-open until 3pm EST on Th., Feb. 6th.
- PoW David’s W3 #145 Echo Verse prompt – open until 10am GMT+2 on Mon.,Feb. 10th.
I hope you enjoyed this poem, reminiscing about an ordinary occurrence I witnessed
growing up, our mothers washed clothes by hand. In my case, Mom washed under a
roofed hutch in a long wooden tub (waist high) paired with a handsome washboard
with a corrugated surface for scrubbing the clothes…until, with my first paycheck, I procured a small washing machine for us. Never did I dream of a dryer as we got
plenty of sun to dry and disinfect everything.
Incidentally, that lovely tub also doubled as a small pool for my younger siblings.
And the washboard was a wonderful-sounding instrument.
Also, I must mention, a transistor radio, placed in a dry corner played as Mom washed.
And she sang (sang to the same wind that floated down the river). Music is such a stress
reliever.
Thanks so much for reading.
Here are some photo relics from Google from that nostalgic time. Mom didn’t have a
wringer–she called on one of us to hold the wash tightly as she wrung.
- The Fiend of Our Times - February 7, 2025
- synchronize & crystallize me, she did - February 6, 2025
- Loaded - February 5, 2025
So poignant. Thank you tow sharing
Aww, sweet Yassy. Thanks so much. Glad you enjoyed it
This is really good, Selma.
Oh, thanks so much Robbie. Bless you.
Love this poem Selma .
It brings back childhood memories.
Thank you.
Childhood memories. Hope they were as pleasant my sweet friend. Bless you.
They were Selma .
Many blessings to you my friend .
A very moving poem Selma.
Thanks dearly, Sadje. xoxo
You’re most welcome
A wonderful poem and I enjoyed reading about you and your Mum’s experience.
happy to know you enjoyed that extra share, dear Heather. I was comfortable to share that much. Blessings.
Music, yes always to the music!
Right? There was always music. A necessity. Thanks dearly Kathryn. Xo
Oh, those were the days Selma..❤️🙏 so beautifully written
I remember Mum having a boiler for nappies, towels and sheets. You put the washing in with soap flakes and boiled them! Rinsing wa done under the outside tap. Then everything was put through a Wringer, where we kids turned a handle and the washing was squeezed between two rollers. This was suburban London in the 1960s.
This is beautifully rhythmic and vivid, Selma! Wowzers. I love how the repetition adds depth and movement to the scene, almost like a dance between action and reflection.
Much love,
David
Absolutely wonderful, Selma. Beautifully expressed. Love it.💕
That’s really beautiful. I enjoy. Where’s place?
I like this! The rhythms and the repeats create the place and the work in my mind.
Beautiful poem, I love that she took out the anger, while washing clothes.
Selma, this is a beautiful tribute to all the women who have this task!
You make the echo verse form work beautifully to match your subject, Selma, the repetitive motions of beating and wringing echoing the pent up frustrations and qualms of the week being washed out, sung out, “down the river.” Thank you for sharing this priceless memory from your childhood, and how proud she must have been to receive from her daughter a washing machine to ease the weekly labor. The imagery — sensations of sound and sight — resonate vividly, as your labor of love for your beloved mother.
Love the way you made the two prompts work and the imagery of the cumbersome way a simple things like washing could be, but also a sense of joy in the collaboration.
Regardless of the status on the prompts I really enjoyed your recalling this memory for me.
You know this poem of stepping stones could go on forever, Sadje!! :>) I love your creative take on this with one line leading into the next! Very well done.
oops, I did it again. Sorry Selma… I called you Sadje!
Well done Selma. (K)
Very much in the style of Arab or Afghan poetry, and all the more interesting for that…poignant read about childhood too…
I love your poem, Selma!
You brought so much more life to washing with your words. Beautifully written, Selma!
Yvette M Calleiro 🙂
http://yvettemcalleiro.blogspot.com