it is doing the wash, and it is more.
looking 'round, our nest above the trees all aflutter with blankets and bonnets, white onesies and burp cloths — like peace flags, like prayer flags, like a flight of doves, all in a row.
doing the wash. a sacred ritual. a love language.
padding feet: hardwood become holy ground.
every sort, a caught breath.
every scrub, a prayer of gratitude.
every fold, a recognition.
every toss atop the wooden drying rack, a single glittering thought:
a baby lives here.
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