She said aloud: the clothes on the man do not make or break,
The clothes don’t even matter,
Just look through the rags and tatter.
Lose the obsession with fashion, new skins, new realities to fake.
She said aloud: I learn to live one way in the gaps
Of definite address, physical location, close proximity,
I learn another in the eras of disappearance, of no trace, no vicinity.
There’s no doubt the repetition wears me down, these laps—
Through tears, reunions, bargains, tears, sex, tears, patterns circle like a wheel.
She said aloud, despite no one on the subway platform wanting to listen:
It pains me how everybody finds it so easy to dismiss him,
But I will never buy him the new threads he prefers to steal.
What matters is how the holes along the seams yield to my fingers,
How the steam from the bath where I wash him engulfs us and lingers.
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