: : Places
I am washing California
from my clothes.
Pouring detergent and turning the dial
to cold.
The machine imitates
the stalwart thrashing of my ancestors
beating and wringing
the residue of some valley
from their collars, cuffs, pockets.
Lifting heavy, wet jeans
I find a solitary stone
resting on the bottom of the drum.
Stowed away in my jacket
airport security neither discovered
nor was alarmed
by the ancient memories it carries
though no computer
can decipher them.
I place it on the nightstand
where it can be reached
when I wake from sleep
needing to rub my worries smooth.
It's hard to stay in one place
so we bring our places with us.
// R Hudgens
