I need a new name.
This one is ruined.
I'm sitting under the clothesline crying.
The other laundry is clean
And flaps dry in the wind.
The sturdy sheets and towels and undergarments
Shine white in the sun and smell of bleach.
My poor name is threadbare and soiled.
I turn it in my hands,
Looking for a place that might hold a clothespin.
Someone has drug it through the mud
And worn it out,
While my ears burn.

-jenn