The pinstriped socks, I swear, are lucky, even though toes pockmark them.
The hat that fits over my skull just right.
The shoes that have a little bit of soul left.
The scarf that doesn’t keep me warm anymore.
The flannel that I would wander the earth to find, and have done, only to find it under an array of pillows.
These articles armor against the grays that seep through the days in gradients of gritted teeth, sharp eyes, and steely texts.
They shield as we sift into our worlds without interruption,
swords to fend off the troubles of realities.
The things I wonder that you hear,
and even more thoughts of what you see;
me mumbling dialogue,
back bowed over the table
carving out the scene sewn into the sinews of last night’s dream.
Fingers holding onto the pen as if it is breath,
hands inches away from cold food displayed by my counterpart,
who notes my caloric count.
Squeals or scoffs as the scene fades -
legs of chairs whining from interruption of my weight.
Silence in my madness in your silence is a stitch to think about, so
a poem to commemorate your services, to comfort the writer you adorn.
Throughout the years, I have accrued numerous articles of clothing that are go-to’s for work or outings and writing. When I write, I enter a ritual; I throw salt over my left shoulder and light some candles, no, I am not part of a Coven, and I wear my Paw’s quarter zip. When he passed, we were given pieces of him in the forms of books, pictures, and clothing. The quarter-zip is dark gray, the morning shade as the Sun slips back into existence, smoke, and the river at dusk. It doesn’t fit me completely, eclipsing my shoulders. Still, I wear it anyway, a shroud of thread worn by him as he wrote his pieces, looking out at the Potomac, listening to classical music, sipping his coffee as he notes meter and metaphor, now living on with another writer, taking part in manuscripts, memories of him.
Thank you so much for reading this piece. I would love to hear your favorite clothing article in the comments, how long you have had it, and why it is your favorite?
See you soon, St. Sinjin.