Poyetry

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Secret Heart

She leans over the bucket, breathing bleach, and weeps.
Why should a girl cry rinsing out the dish towels?
Unfair, unkind task? No, who could complain?
The mystery of tears dripping salty,
Into the pool-scented suds.

She closed her heart, long ago.
Putting away secrets too large,
Too dangerous to know.
Now, she receives faint telegraphs
From that too secret part.

Her heart is closed, a locket around her neck.
A secret inside not even she can open.
The steam from the bucket eased the hinges,
Just enough for tears, but not
No not for anything so large as
Love

And so she wonders
Why, and why
She weeps.

The tears wrung out of love, as she wrings each towel.

Jan. 29, 2008 & Feb. 2, 2008

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