Poem of the Week, by Ted Kooser

A Washing of Hands
– Ted Kooser

She turned on the tap and a silver braid
unraveled over her fingers.
She cupped them, weighing that tassel,
first in one hand and then the other,
then pinched through the threads
as if searching for something, perhaps
an entangled cocklebur of water,
or the seed of a lake. A time or two
she took the tassel in both hands,
squeezed it into a knot, wrung out
the cold and the light, and then, at the end,
pulled down hard on it twice,
as if the water were a rope and she was
ringing a bell to call me, two bright rings,
though I was there.

For more information on Ted Kooser, please click here: http://tedkooser.net/

My blog: alisonmcghee.com/blog

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One comment

  1. Karen · March 30, 2014

    I love this. It reminds me of a time when washing my hands was one of the things that took forever, and how if I played long enough the water felt like a solid thing in my hands.


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