As daylight broke across the sky, in the laundry room there was a cry.
For the basket had spent its night alone, without a friend to call its own.
Bereft of companionship, it sobbed and sighed.
I want a friend, the basket cried.
And as the sun reached for the clouds, the door opened.
And one single, mismatched, little sock claimed the basket for a home.
The lonely basket cheered with glee. Than one friend turned into two.
Than three.
And as the day progressed, the pile grew.
from thirteen-and-a-half garments to twenty-two.
A ketchup-stained blouse from Sunday brunch.
Some ripped up jeans, nice and scrunched.
A soccer jersey followed next, a romper, and some grass-stained pants.
With ants.
Five dresses wrinkled, but not stained.
Some sweats that had seen better days.
Bathing suits, sizes 10 and 16, warmed by the sun
and some underclothes came in.
One by one.
As the day progressed, the pile grew.
In twos, and threes, until twenty-two became forty-five-and-3/4s.
So many friends did the basket make.
It cheered inside. Life was great!
Until the door opened once more.
A hand reached in and grabbed one of its pals.
Than four.
Five, six, seven and eight.
Some overalls, a polka-dot dress for an evening date.
A peas-and-carrots-stained bib.
Some trousers, inside the pockets-a pencil with a chewed up nib.
And as the pile decreased in size, the basket once again did cry.
It knew soon it would be alone again.
Without so much as a single friend.
But, for as quickly as the hand did work, taking away each friend- denim jacket and checkered shirt.
Smaller hands did slip inside, adding to the pile so fast it multiplied.
Until the basket was fully stocked again.
Plus some for good measure.
It held them close, its own dear treasure.
The night fell across the room.
To the basket’s surprise, the human did not come back.
And so the basket thanked the stars and the sky for hearing its dear wish and cry.
And in days to come when it was empty in the light of the shining sun.
It would never forget the day the laundry won.
So next time you’re fed up with washing clothes and would like to burn them all.
Consider the lonely basket.
And then burn the clothes anyway.
You’ll feel better.
I swear.
Once upon a time a single sock made its way into a lonely basket.
c.b.writes 