You slept in this blue shirt last night.
I washed it cold and turned it right-
side in before I dried. The air
is dank, your clothes beyond repair,
but yours they are. So it is right
that I should wash blood out of white
and leave the holes, whatever fight
or gamble left them; I don’t care.
You slept in this.
Today the vacant sky was bright
and heavy, and the coming night
was stifled in its bed. Somewhere,
you’re drowning in your shirt. You wear
my next week’s errand. I sleep light.
You slept in this.
Thanks to Emily for the help.
I don't habitually read poetry but I always love the affective quality of the pieces I find here.
I love this! I am a huge fan of clever enjambments, and you are a real master!