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Concealed
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
© Johnmichael Simon
2015
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