When Mama was a young girl –
before Papa made her head whirl –
she helped her Mama folding up the sheets.
But then she moved to her own home
and chores once shared were hers alone.
She missed her Mama’s help in folding sheets.
We children became older
and time came for us to shoulder
the job of helping Mama fold the sheets.
With corners square we danced the cloth
into a bundle neat and soft
and, laughing, helped our Mama fold the sheets.
The years stack up like laundry piles
and we’re all grown, our houses miles
away from Mama and her mounds of sheets.
But each and every laundry day
I call my kids away from play --
it’s now their turn to help me fold the sheets.
They make a game and dance the cloth
and smile and sing, such merry froth –
make memories of Mama and her sheets.
They’ll help me for a while to fold the sheets.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Pamela J. Jessen would
be pleased to hear them.