Each Moment, a Wonder
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One shirt.
Tan.
Size Large.
His.
Left behind.
From the visit.
Gone.
Returned to the place
He calls home
For now.
I fold it
On the kitchen counter
And am taken back
To the wonder
of
The First Folding.
The clothes for Him,
The one
Swimming
In my body,
While I fold
And wonder
His precious life
To be.
Still the folding
And the wondering
Twenty Years
Grateful for the wonder
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A Mother’s Apology to Her Son
TweetThe following request appeared in the Atlantic Monthly “Word Fugitive” column:
“I’m looking for a word for the items of clothing which sit perched in my bedroom, waiting to be reworn. They are not yet ready for the laundry bin (since I plan to rewear them), but they are no longer suitable for the wardrobe (which I reserve for clean clothes). I ... Read more »
