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Morgan Harris,
Marblehead, MA |
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A faded shirt found at the bottom
of a pile of dirty old clothes
fit fordirty old men.
Worn gray-blue with its backward
pastel rainbowstripe
and random missing buttons.
Reminding me of you,
it's somethingyou'd want
and cherish. Broken.
I take it greedily
into my armsand
rub it in along my sweaty
palms, smelling it.
RememberingFebruary
when we danced
for all eyes
and I put on a show
but neverpretended
to be happy.
I slide one arm
gently into the firstsleeve
and I sense March,
when I had to pretend
just a little more thanusual.
As my second appendage
flows freely through the
other giant,gaping sleeve
I remember your arm upon my elbow.
Your eyes soul-searching
and your mint-scented breath
whispering apologies
and promises oflove.
I believed it and again,
greedily took it to heart.
I fix thecollar and muse upon
the firsts that you gave me
and the thirsts that youquenched.
Unknowingly and innocent.
I smile as I fasten
all thebuttons.
Except the top three
as I had watched you do
when you asked meif it looked alright.
Trusting me with your self-image.
I sigh and walkon.
I smell like February.
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