TO THAW
By Annelise Mozzoni
Kenmore Electric Dryer
Room steeped in blue,
her and I,
folding cotton waves.
Standing in a swallow of light,
she pulls sheets out
like taffy
from dryer teeth.
She strokes my cheek,
with toasted thread,
wanting me to catch the sheets’ last breath.
To Thaw
In spring
we shakeout
like seasoned linens.
Work fast,
to clean our once newlywed nest,
and beat the retreating frost.
When finished,
we bathe citrus in gin,
and join the sweet potato vines on the porch,
to toast the clean baseboards and weeded garden.
But our tongues have yet to thaw.
Wintered problems plated between us,
you haven’t paused to notice,
I let them sit,
and crystallize in the newborn sun.
About the Author:
Annelise Mozzoni grew up in Rogers, Arkansas. She studies English with a concentration in creative writing at the University of Arkansas. In between class and slinging pizzas at a local pizza shop, she finds time to write. Her influences include Lisel Mueller, and her home deep in the Ozarks.
