Poetry

Shirts

A Reprise

 

 

And now I come to wear your clothes, shirts 

you no longer fit and barely wore in the end;

accumulated in piles to divide and sort, 

of three sizes— which was the size of you?

 

I'll accustom my tastes to them, necessarily

choose their cuts and colors, assimilate snaps, 

wishing for buttons, unbegrudge a missing  

inch of sleeve and draw your skin upon mine,

 

assuming your hide, pattern, and hue—

don this sudden wealth overwhelming 

my life, this unbidden inheritance

now become shrouds of the everyday. 

Stepping Between The Strands

For Robert Taylor Baggott

 

The fence catches and rips my shirt,

my pants are tattered and worn, 

seams unraveling; mud oozes through 

holes in my boots; my feet are damp.

 

I am Adam tearing out of his clothes,

the world my seeming accomplice—

already I feel a raiment of fresh light

the air's embrace beckoning like spring 

water thrilling every pore. 

 

 

I enter a raucous quiet through its bright, 

green door. I remember the place I first

wakened, wind tearing through the treetops

at the edge of the yard, four years after I was born, 

names suddenly pressing into my thoughts.

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