Laundry Day
The last day of the world happened to be laundry day.
We walked through the yard in our socks.
Halfway through the dandelions and tall grass,
with wet toes, you pulled your argyles off.
On the last day of the world,
I forced the words out.
It’s you.
I read ‘Age of Innocence,’ by Edith Wharton,
and I decided that we can’t be Ellen and Archer.
Thirty years from now I do not want to sit
on the curb outside your house,
looking up at that happy window.
I kissed you at twenty-two. I’ll wait to do the same at fifty-two,
if I have to.
Don’t think I won’t remember you.
I will.
I didn’t force all those words out, just a few.
Now, I walk through the yard, without you.
I haven’t done laundry since the last day of the world.
I kept the socks.
Audrey Lee is an Austin, TX-based writer. Her previous poem, "A Cheap Date" was published by You Might Need to Hear This in Summer 2021. Since then she has published another piece with "Poet's Choice." Audrey continues to enjoy writing poems about relationships, heartbreak, and nostalgia. She is currently in the process of publishing a chapbook of her poems.