Nothing Is Wasted

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.