Holding Tight

Clothespin clinging to the line, so frail,

it holds the fabric of a life’s detail.

Sun-bleached, weathered, a witness to care,

tightening its grip on breezes that dare.

Each sheet flutters like stories long told,

a simple thing, yet a memory’s hold.

Laundry swings slowly, whispering lives,

while the clothespin breathes, where comfort survives.

It captures the mundane, the rituals so slight,

it holds them together, through day and night.