when
i see clothes hanging
heavy
and wet on the line
strung
from pole to pole,
i see my
mother in her bare feet
in the wet
grass of April,
yet cold.
she has an apron pocket full
of clothespins
and two
in her mouth.
she's at peace for a few
brief moments,
the kids are
silenced behind the windows.
across the yard,
in the house.
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