she on a September Tuesday

“It’s called progress,” she said.
“PROG-GRESS!”

She emphasized the word with a snarky tone.
And a flip of her hair.
With her arm extended she held her hand up and spread her fingers. She admired the silver and gold rings that did not adorn her.

“I didn’t mind her being here,” she spoke very softly, “in fact, I enjoyed it. You know?” A reminiscent giggle escaped. Before she had a chance to put her emotions in check. “I can’t believe the first thing I did, before even shutting all the windows, was to start a load of laundry. Do you believe that?”