I pick up your earrings points of weight on my palm
that you took off last night
while bathing the kids
and take them back to your dresser.
As I go, with my toe
I snag that bra
the orange one that makes you grin
just to know you have it on
and fling it at that chair by our bed
with other things not-dirty-not-clean.
Then I snap up your nightshirt
that tee-shirt of mine you stole
and flap it straight for folding.
The one long hair on the sleeve
makes me smile.
It’s yours.
— RCC, 2003
wellthereyougo 