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Descending the stairs, basket
In hand I carry dirty clothing.
Proof of life, I'm a wife,
But I only wash my own clothes.
There are no gender roles
Under this roof we are equal.
Shared chores, shared belongings,
But individual as well.
He is my rock, I am his stone.
The wash machine spins,
Fills and rinses.
The noise drowns out his
Singing songs I've grown to love.
I love him more each day.
Dirty clothes and Dirty dishes,
Two things that never die, everlasting
Like honest love.
Drops of water spattered on the basement
Floor is cold under my feet.
The heat of the dryer,
The sound of tumbling,
Soothing in the early hours of night
Morning comes before rest
For creative souls are night owls.
Awake until the last load tumbles
Dry, warm clothes offer comfort on
A chilly night fills the air,
But my heart is full of warmth and love.