Stacks

by Sharon Black

Twelve fresh duvet covers, folded; 
pillowcases at the side.

A twelve-foot wall of schist, pointed             
with lime, by the bright veranda.        

An abstract by our friend, 
a tower of wonky squares.            

The ways we write, 
the ways we live, stacked one upon the other.

On the line, more laundry to bring in.
Let me do it quietly; let me take my time.