Arts and Mysteries

“Thus they are all practically initiated
into the arts and mysteries of the wash-tub.”
– Catherine Esther Beecher, A Treatise on Domestic Economy

Wash only fabric worn closest to the skin: shirts, drawers, chemises.
Inspect it all. Mend what is torn.
Soak everything overnight to loosen the stains.
Before dawn, stack logs under the big iron pot.
Carry buckets two by two and fill it.
In a washtub, lather each article with lye soap —
first the outside, then the inside.
Scrub your knuckles raw against the washboard
till the water clouds with oil and dirt and week-old sweat.
Drop all the clothes into the iron pot.
Tuck your skirts between your thighs so you don’t catch flame.
Stir a week’s laundry with a paddle a man could use to row away.
Use it to lift each dripping steaming cloth from the boil.
Dip them in cool clean water. Sluice the last pollution out.
Soak the whites with bluing.
Let them float in the tub like clouds in a captive sky.
Wrap your fists around the cloth and wring. Harder.
Pin each piece up for the wind to catch,
or lay it on the grass for the sun to bleach.
Do not lie on the lawn yourself, or open your arms to the breeze.
Empty and scrub the pots and tubs. Rake the coals.
Line up irons, each heavy as a child, for tomorrow’s work.