Jane Zwart
For Laura, Doing Laundry
Two minds are not enough,
but I will allow that our flaws
flicker in and out of loveliness—
not in and out of focus, I don’t
mean that, and I don’t mean
the shapeshifting that’s a trick
of the light: candles’ flattery,
unforgiving fluorescence.
Even the seasons have little to do
with whether the flamingos
that picket the neighbors’ yard
look jaunty or dissolute. Two
minds are not enough. I have two;
a basket of paper airplanes
is a fascicle of weak creases;
a basket of paper airplanes
is a quiver of chances. We talk
about the clean laundry you dump,
unfolded, into a play pen:
yes, a morass, yes, a treasure hunt;
yes, an imperfection; it flickers
into loveliness when we laugh.
Jane Zwart reads “For Laura, Doing Laundry”
Jane Zwart teaches at Calvin University, where she also co-directs the Calvin Center for Faith & Writing. Her poems have appeared in Poetry, The Southern Review, HAD, Ploughshares, and, once before, in The Cortland Review, as well as other journals and magazines.