folding
May 22, 2009
I am folding shirts
how he showed me; pressing the sleeves back first.
Here we have regular cotton shirts,
brown and faded navy blue.
Soft to the touch, draped over bare shoulders.
My hands shake with disappointment
as I fold. I wanted to make them perfect,
but my folding is lopsided
and awkward.
I found him in those shirts;
the scent of ambition imbued in tender fabrics.
But they must be returned, and I am as well
returned to God with the same empty palms I was born with.
