I'm running out of laundry  

  
 
     I'm running out of laundry she said 
     pressing the white terrycloth 
     to her chin stained like  
     a delicious red apple, the terry 
     absorbing splotches of iron-mixed 
     flesh juice.  

     I'm running out of laundry she said  
     beside the slatted wooden basket 
     piled high with rosy apple 
     towels, the scent of white-petalled 
     orchards wafting on the dryer exhaust.  

     I'm running out of laundry she said  
     dropping the reddened terry onto 
     a mountain of apples as she 
     plucks another white flower from 
     the orchard, stemming the flow 
     of flesh juice as she presses 
     firmly against her chin.  



     --jennifer crystal chien