Lindy at Poetic Licensee wrote a lovely poem today, memories of her mother. I promised her I’d blog a poem I wrote a year ago about my mom, because we had some bits in common, so here it is… This was also part of my chapbook, Dance Groove Funhouse. Thanks, my new friend Lindy, for reminding me of this one! Peace to all, Amy
THE WRINGER
I was the baby so I
spent a lot of time with Mom
watching her perform the mundane tasks
of suburban housewifery
that would eventually lead her to alcoholism
But back then they were fun
The radio was always on
Roger Miller singing King of the Road
We’d sing along
She taught me to harmonize when I was four
Downstairs to do laundry
A humungous circular washer, a wringer
And a clothesline out back
To her this was heaven
having survived the Depression
All these conveniences
meant just for her
In those days, she saw her life as luxurious
And she saw me as company
and the only friend around
After poking a stick into the washing
to make sure the detergent had really dissolved
She drained it and refilled to rinse
Man, she really took the stick to that
Everything had to be clean, perfect, worthy
But the best part
Before the hanging on the line with wooden clothespins
(Someone should invent something with a spring,
she said absentmindedly one day
Her mom was a genius, too)
Was the wringer
The clothes being strangled as they
gave up almost every drop of their being
I pretended they were bad people who were being punished
I prayed for them but secretly relished their fate
Back then it was easy
We’d go upstairs and have coffee (mine was mostly milk)
She light a Lucky and we’d sit
gazing out the window to the fields beyond
Soundtrack by The Lettermen and Peggy Lee
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also at my poetic touchstone, Poets United.
Sharp Little Pencil 
vivinfrance
Great memories – I was there with you.
Sharp Little Pencil
Thanks, Viv. I’m so glad you enjoyed this one. Once in a while it’s good to step away from the controversial and simply savor the past. Peace, Amy
Altonian
What a lovely reminisce. I too remember the big wash tubs, the sticks, and the mangle, as we called it. It took a long time for a ‘little ‘un’ to get a sheet through the rollers. Got my fingers half-way through once. A terrific way to finish the chores – Coffee, Lucky Strike and Peggy Lee. Can’t get better than that, unless the ‘fag’ was a Sweet Caporal (Where did they go?)
Sharp Little Pencil
We called it a mangle, too. And yes, it took forever and my two little helping hands to keep the sheets off the floor!
Although most of the last generation in my family smoked, Sweet Caporals are a new one on me. I knew you would dig the Peggy Lee. Remember her recording of, “Is That All There Is?” My all-time favorite song… “Let’s break out the booze and have a ball… if that’s all… there is…: Her breathless delivery (and actually asthma) gave her that girlish, breathy quality. Love Peggy, God bless her. Peace, Amy
Victoria C. Slotto
I love it…I have a poem I posted a while back that also features a wringer. It’s a great metaphor and memory.
Sharp Little Pencil
It fits on so many levels – nostalgic and functional, as well as the gritty, emotional “wringer.” I’ll try to find the poem on your blog, Victoria. Thanks so much, and peace, Amy
Lindy Lee
Thank you for keeping your promise to post this poem. They are real nice ones, that wash house humdinger and your poem, “The Wringer” …
Sharp Little Pencil
Lindy, I used to work piano bar. I do take requests, ha ha. I’m glad our share experiences bring us a bit closer together. Peace, Amy
seingraham
“the clothes being strangled as they gave up every drop of their being” – I love that … we had a wringer washer also and I remember watching (and sorta helping) the unrecognizable things coming through the rollers, flattened to nothing – Lord help me if I let anything slip back into the water! This is a great poem … vivid images and lots of nostalgia and your soundtrack is inspired.
Sharp Little Pencil
Thanks, Sharon. I do love looking back on those days. The interim when I was the only kid at home was heaven, because Mom would tell stories the whole time.
Oh – and yes, NEVER let anything slip into the water!! Peace, Amy
Joseph Harker
Very subtle violence under the homey bits. I’ve never seen or used a wringer, but it sounds like madcap fun, despite the number of times I say I’ve been through it.
Sharp Little Pencil
Ha, I didn’t take that expression into account when I wrote it! But yes, even then, I think I knew the revenge I sought… you know…
Thanks so much for visiting, my friend! Peace, Amy
Paul Andrew Russell
A lovely piece, Amy. I too remember the wringer when my mum was doing the laundry. I was always fascinated by the ‘V’ shaped stream of water that came out of the rollers when the clothes went through. No video games back then to keep us amused. 🙂
Sharp Little Pencil
Paul, I’d rather children watch a parent doing an honest day’s work rather than playing video games, anyway! Thanks so much for visiting, and peace, Amy
Buddah Moskowitz
Absolutely pitch perfect, my sister. I loved the detail, the pace, just everything. You know how to keep it real without becoming mundane.
Just perfect, Amemleh – thanks, tu hermano, el Mosk
Sharp Little Pencil
Ah, Buddah, and guess what? That poem is in Dance Groove Funhouse, too! Hope you are liking it…
Thank you for the comments regarding the tasteful aspects of the poem. Not exactly something I’m famous for, right?! Paz, mi hermano – Ameleh
Sherry Blue Sky
A wonderful nostalgic memory. It sounds wonderful. I remember washing in one of those machines and how the stuff would bunch up in the rollers if I stuffed it too fast. Yoiks, I can even remember when we had an ice box which was actually a box in the root cellar, cooled by a block of ice. How old does that make me, hee hee?
Sharp Little Pencil
Old enough for people to have to listen to your infinite wisdom!
Hey, I remember our first telephone in our new house in the late 50s was in the garage and we have a five-digit phone number and a party line! ;^)
kaykuala
Amy,
Mom’s the word! Reminds me what we saw our late mother did. Basically washing,cooking,cleaning. She didn’t seem to rest.It didn’t make it any easier for her when we also mess things up and she had to do the chores again.Those care free days! Thanks for sharing!
Hank
Sharp Little Pencil
Oooh Hank, “Mom’s the word!” GROOOAAN, ha ha. And my mom was the same, except she also found time to be on the school board, be a Girl Scout leader for a few years (before alcohol caught her by the heel), and sing in clubs on Saturday nights and direct church choir on Sundays! I really enjoyed posting this one from a year or more, at the request of a friend. Peace, Amy
brian
really intersting the feelings about the clothes going through the wringer and i think that we all secretly feel that way at times when justice happens…you know….great story telling, but that is what caught me…
Sharp Little Pencil
Brian, good catch. That thought simply slipped in there, almost when I wasn’t looking. There are all sorts of sinister little bits in my poetry, I suppose, if one looks hard enough! Thank you so much… peace, Amy
twinklysparkles
Nice, I like this, not only the memories you express about you and your mother and the laundry, but especially how you imagine the clothes being strangled. So vivid and perfect and a completely original image…thank you.
I have a blog post about the laundry. I won’t link to it here because I don’t want to be pushy, but if you’d like to read it, it is called “I am the Laundry Queen, I can do anything.”
A different take on the laundry than your poem, but some resonance, too. Ciao!
Sharp Little Pencil
Hey, Twink! NEVER think you’re being pushy by leaving links. I almost always leave “breadcrumbs” on other folks’ blogs when I visit, so we can keep the momentum going, especially when I enjoy their work.
Like I told someone else, the strangulation happened to work its way in there. A little synapse fired… kind of bizarre! I’m coming over to find your Laundry Queen post. And leave a link anytime – EVERYBODY! Peace, Amy