Lauren Perrey


Yellow streaks coat the white washed walls.
I scrub frantically as she rounds the corner,
her small plastic heels clicking
on the hard tile floor.
Magenta lipstick smeared all over her face,
she smiles a blameless smile.
I smile back.
I've never been good at staying mad.
I take her small hand in mine
as I walk to the laundry room.
The room fills with a stuffy steam
as I open the dryer door. I pull out her tiny sweaters
marked with wax, noticing I have dried
not only sweaters, but a single
yellow crayon.