I pinned my laundry to the line
and stood in the storm-watch wind,
luffed and transported
into Grandma's backyard
under buffeting sheets
and Grandpa's workshirts,
blue arms waving,
"Carl" winking in an oval,
Grandma leaning out the kitchen window
in the smell of baked cherries,
waving me in with a smile,
the long arms of my workshirts
rising and falling in the wind.
