By Doris Dembosky When was the last time you changed your clothes? Mostly housebound, I’ve worn the same clothing for four or five days. I’ve lost count. Some days I’m not even sure what day it is. Recently I stumbled across “Windchime,” a poem by Tony Hoagland. The poem begins: She goes out to hang the windchime in her nightie and her workboots. It’s six-thirty in the morning, and she’s standing on the plastic ice chest tiptoe to reach the crossbeam of the porch, windchime in her left hand, hammer in her right, the nail gripped tight between her teeth. ...