It is all about habits, your grandpa has worn checks
forever, his pa too.
folding laundry, I come across a fluorescent yellow
and ink blue collared shirt.
it fits into my palm, sleeves buttoned and turned in
wards, unwritten dress codes.
I indulge time, lingering longer, hanging cottons on
hooks for air drying.
I don’t want to leave, nor return this shirt on a stack
piling high on your shelf.
realizing it also has a pocket, wondering what a ten
month old would keep inside.
gazing at the blueberry stain as I vacantly rub a wet
Q tip over it, again.
Suddenly it all makes sense.
the crisp linen smoothened
its window panes, perfectly
patterned
hematology
a whispered list
of ancestors.
Photo by David Beale on Unsplash
