when I was ten Mom would send 
Mike and me to the corner laundromat 
with a basket of cold wet sheets
she’d slip a few extra coins in our coat pockets
for a bottle of ice cold Coke we’d share
waiting for the loads to dry
when the timer chimed we’d
pull out the steaming hot sheets
fold crisp white corners together
our smooth chins almost touching
something I still remember with a smile
so different from the last time 
I saw Mike in a hospital bed
oxygen mask tight over his nose
a white wrinkled hospital sheet 
tucked under his unshaven chin

– Frank Modica

Author’s Note: The simple act of folding sheets can bring back a variety of memories, some good and others painful. They’re all a part of what we experience.