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Clothes from the Dryer
by Kay Weeks

I watch you, wet and tangled,
Disappear, then re-appear
Like lost loved ones
Who held me tenderly
Too passionately at times,
Squeezing me dry.

You, once bright and dry
Complex, but not yet tangled,
And we were content at times
To let the sun go down, yet re-appear.
We wore each other tenderly,
A family of threes and twos and ones.

If juicy life were only loved ones
But we spun ourselves dry,
Our words were not spoken tenderly,
Our threads whirling, becoming tangled
Worn too long, yet you would re-appear
Completely devoid of love at times.

Oh yes! There were times
When you and I were the only ones–
Electricity would suddenly re-appear
And damp turned wet, not dry
As our ropy sleeves entangled
Like soft embraces, blending tenderly.

Side by side lying tenderly
Our reds and pinks blurring at times
How lovingly we were, then, tangled
In twos and threes and ones,
Back down to zero, hot and dry
When that tell-tale gray fuzz would re-appear.

That residue of gray would re-appear
A slowness akin to dying tenderly,
From taut youth to stretchy old and dry
And no more like beautiful loved ones
Yet our fabric hopelessly tangled.

I feel there are advantages to being dry
Or worn-in, not being one of those new ones–
And being alone far better than tangled.

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