Sitting on shelves

with ripped blue jeans

and stained black shirts,

an abandoned argyle sweater from last season

waits

to be adopted

There is a poem among these discarded threads.

There are so many clothes,

folded,

strewn,

abandoned,

and ignored

I almost stop looking.

Then there is one skirt, picked at last,

woven with words each one intricately threaded

into the next line.

In a big pile of lost,

I have found the meaning.

Poetry is the found among the discarded,

not known and hard to understand.

Like leaves blown

away by the wind.

Poetry is the girl in the back of the store.

Not hiding but hidden.

Black hair and glasses,

with garments in her basket

like the words in a line.

She sees the hidden beauty in unwanted things.

She finds the true meaning.

She can find the poetry in a store full of old clothes.