She hides behind motherhood
Like she hid behind her mother's apron as a child,
When someone tried to look at her
And tell her what pretty hair she had.
No one sees the brilliance
Behind the baby talk she chatters forth to her children,
And she shushes them kindly
If they innocently begin to say something
That might reveal the way she is at home.

Her children may be the only ones
Who have ever seen her intelligence,
Or her beauty, as they catch a glimpse
Of her bare skin
As her bathrobe falls onto the floor
And she steps into her closet
To find herself something to wear.

It will be something drab,
And bulky, with some non-descript patterns
Cheaply spooled, to camouflage her loveliness again.

-jenn