I reached into my closet,
Looking for a shirt I thought maybe had fallen.
I extended my appendage to the way way back wall…
Until my fingers were basically in the bathroom.

I pull out a top, thought
Not the piece I’m praying for.
I yank my baby blanket,
Pink like doublebubble chews, the adorning ornaments
on the walls of my new adult home.
Pink and BLUE-
Bluer than a bereaved Bolshevik who’s had his heart and bones
Blown to smithereens by a Molotov Cocktail.

I unveil my ultrasound,
My zeroth birthday,
And five photos of myself hooked to tubes-
One for each night in the ICU.
I spot my saxophone
And rediscover that ol’ dead end job.

Then I find a shoebox.

Under the cardboard cover are a dozen green little orbs
Flickering,
Whispering the word
“friendship.”
When the gold Illuminate in an orb resonates-
For half a moment, mind you-
I see netless wood basketball hoops behind my pal Drew.
A separate light shows the slivery weapons
Aaron and I had crafted with our calloused
Third-rate
Third-grade hands…
Before we realized how his cousin had died.
And in another fleeting little sphere, I peer at a picnic table.
I’m holding hands with Sandra,
Wasting no mind to raillery about sitting in a tree.

“Have you found your shirt?” Mom asks, standing in my doorway.
I reply all lucid-eyed, “It’s shrunk.”