The skin recognizes
what was hair, what pleases
the skin to be close, don't
give it a name
when you drown it,
don't celebrate or take
too reverent a time
stretching it past normalcy
and pinning down
its length. That said,
be kind––the fabric is weak
when saturated, too heavy
to do anything but sag itself
long and lacking if allowed.
Sort the rest of the laundry
by color, steady
your folds and do not think
too much about the fur
on your arms, gold
in the dingy basement light as you
brush the hair away from your eyes.
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6 comments:
hi, nathan! i like all the echoes in this of fur and hair -- sensual in the "of the senses" meaning of the word!
I really liked the tactile memory of skin and hair in the first two stanzas. Nice work.
I have an alpaca throw that I use as a bed cover. The only thing I was told when I bought it was that I was never to wash it. So, I stretch it over the patio chairs and comb out in the sunshine and fresh air. I love the feel of it and found the same in your poem. Welcome back and Happy New Year,
Elizabeth
it felt good Nathan...nicely done and thanks for sharing your words.....have a great NY
I love the tactile feel of this poem!
Like!
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