Ironed Out



I am still scrubbing the dark splash of wine
That you tipped over my white dress last night.
Silence is wrung, and hangs on the clothesline
And on stitched lips, but we’d rather close sight.
The fabric rips, and the sound crackles through,
And my cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.
Your calloused hands hovered mine, and I knew
That this white taffeta was ours to mend.
So we folded silence with our laughter,
Sorted past white and colored misgivings,
Smoothed the folds and  creases with our banter,
And hemmed and sewed all of our loose endings,
Because if wine had to stain me once more,
I’d go through it again just to be yours.

About this poem

The prompt was: write about a chore you hate. I decided to turn it into love.

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Written on September 23, 2021

Submitted by vanessa.esguerra on August 23, 2022

Modified on March 18, 2023

37 sec read
89

Quick analysis:

Scheme ABABCDCEFGFGHI
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 640
Words 124
Stanzas 1
Stanza Lengths 14

Vans Esguerra

Vans is a fresh graduate from the University of Asia and the Pacific, with the course of Bachelor of Arts in Political Economy. She has many roles in life: artist, debater, and mother of a cat to name a few. Through the power of iced coffee, she writes essays and poems that dissect love and life. more…

All Vans Esguerra poems | Vans Esguerra Books

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Discuss the poem Ironed Out with the community...

2 Comments
  • markadrianjefferis
    A very moving, powerful poem with a feeling of shyness for lust and perhaps a romantic memory that I feel has a wonderful use of words and clever but clean double entendres.
    LikeReply1 year ago
  • duanep.55643
    It's romantic, thought out and at a good length. I could imagine this.
    LikeReply1 year ago

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"Ironed Out" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 Mar. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/136094/ironed-out>.

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