For Softee (Two Es), Last Seen: 1998

I never liked the ivory wool blanket you came with—

it was itchy, it didn’t match your silk.



I used to wear your as a scarf.

Did you know I couldn’t fall asleep without you?



The frays came with time, the pilling came with time,

and there were many a time

that I almost lost you:



In an airport, Denver.

In a hotel, Key West.

In a mattress cover, London.

In a pile of laundry, Greenwich.



Sometimes when I rub my fingers,

I can still feel how soft you were.

No flowery words are needed to describe it,

just simply the sensation of silk between

an index finger and thumb,

cold in the winter if I’d left you alone too long.



Sometimes when I’m alone I look in the closet

I thought I dropped you in.

My rug is ivory, maybe you blend

since there are no lights in there.

And this one time when I am alone,

truly alone,

I cry.