and how time slows

and how time slows

and how time slows

as you fold

laundry with your friend in late September

your hair braided

hers—

all the kids are out this morning

you sort t-shirts towels and sweaters

and slide maybe single socks across the table

to her waiting hands

what is it

eighteen years, maybe more and now she’s dying

November seems a stretch

and what can be done

but crease the clothes back on themselves

stack them in the autumn sun

soon you know

you will make lunch

put clothes away

and perhaps

unbraid your hair

for her to brush in the backyard

golden leaves falling

to ground