[Ella Shively]

She is ironing a blue dress in the white washroom
The heat from the iron warms her hand
The room is filling with the red slant of a falling sun
A kitchen is through the open door
Steam rises from a boiling pot
Her hair is cut at a slant
Her bangs angle down her forehead
A darker red light comes through the window
Her free arm is now covered with red
She sets the iron on its end
She smiles and takes a slow whirl
Her hair is too short to fly up
She turns back to the ironing board
She picks up the dress with both hands
She presses it to her breasts
Now we must make a decision
Does she move into the kitchen to cook dinner
Is the dress her finest
Is she planning to wear it tonight
Is she a young virgin still confused
Is a young husband upstairs
Is he about to disappoint her
Is she a French girl who sings La Vie en Rose
Is she leaning toward the window
Is she still here

Hi John,

This is a unique poem grounded in several images, and each of those images is crystal clear to my imagination. My main critique is that the first half contains quite a few passive or weak verbs that don't work for me.

Thanks for sharing,

Ella