September 5, 2010 § 2 Comments

The mover’s weight is shifting from one foot to the other,swaying with quiet purpose. The right arm glides backwards and forwards sometimes lightly, sometimes firmly. The left hand scouts and leads, drawing tension through the fabrics. Items are moving from an unkempt pile of colours and textures on the tiled kitchen counter to a precarious pile of folded order at the end of the bullet-shaped board.  Another mover passes by, it tips, it falls. There is a momentary spike of adrenalin that subsides a little more slowly than it rose. The pile is rescued, restacked elsewhere. The mover returns, the swaying continues.


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§ 2 Responses to ironing

  • izzy terry says:

    i am swaying with quiet purpose

    thankyou beverly, vivid and vital x

  • As I read I feel the smooth, satisfying journey of the iron and drift into the past – my grandmother is showing me how to iron a shirt and the air is full of warm,steamy laundry smell. I feel into my body, the slightly arkward angle of the head jarring my bones- sitting on the edge of the chair ,not fully committed to staying, always just grabbing a second, a moment for me.

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