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As she hangs the washing on the clothes line

she listens to a dove cooing

and wonders

how many others out there may be hiding

their tears in the basement

hoping they will dry in a few days

cooing when friends and family phone

and when guests arrive

all neat and smiling in their ironed hems and sleeves


So that when she takes down

the cottons and the woolens

his heavy socks, her flimsy underwear

now fresh and fragrant for drawers and closets

she puts the ones with tiny stains and blemishes

right at the bottom of the stack

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© Johnmichael Simon



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