Socks
I started to fold my socks like you.
What for? I don't know,
Some desperate craving to be closer to you
Or the things in your life.
(I folded your laundry once.)
For months after,
I hurt every time I did my laundry,
Nestling one sock over another in a
Simple natural pair.
(Or maybe, you folded mine.)
As I,
Inconceivably,
For some reason,
Continued.
I don't know when I stopped.
But it's funny, now,
Sitting cross-legged on the ground
With one soft cotton sock in each hand,
I can't seem to remember how it went.
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