Nothing Is Wasted
The college course I took in Clothing
and Textiles, useful for recalling
now the meaning of the word gamine.
How the girls in sixth grade would preen
before their lockers, spraying CK One
onto a brush or denim jacket, or Sun-
Ripened Raspberry right into their hair.
How certain girls would choose dare
over truth at sleepovers. The half-healed-
over hole above my navel, semi-sealed
and without jewelry. The swoony letter
I left in a boy’s car. The blue sweater
I buy again and again, only slightly varied
in proportion and weight. How I’ve carried
Japanese coins in my change purse for two
years because I like the hole cut through
the coin, and its raised chrysanthemums,
and also, just in case. The banana that becomes
more valuable when it browns, for bread.
The hours of sleep, and what I’ve done instead
of sleeping. The cities I’ve lived in and gone
away from. The money I gave to a salon
for the uneven haircut, the months I never
cut my hair before and after. The clever
joke I made once, but cannot retell.
The broken sand dollar. The lost seashell.