April 3: Ironing

 

In 1987, before she headed back to work,

Mom taught me to iron a button down shirt

holding the scalding iron over damp cotton

she commanded it; brisk press over collar first 

deft shakeout, then sleeves, then spray starch 

burning the bottom of the Black and Decker. 

it never showed up on the shirts themselves.

Year upon year, daily  I had been sporting 

starched collars, crisp cuffs, flesh chafed, 

and here on this board lived the why: 

hour upon hour, day upon day, 

Mom pressed shirts the way 

I now pen poems, an eye 

for wrinkles, neckline 

and cuff, confident 

lines to each hem

knowing, noting 

what others 

would see

a door 

open 

for

 me.