By Jayne Marek
Close your eyes.
You have already paid
for this soft towel
with four bright colors
smooth against your cheek.
It is one long filament
woven by metal blades
and you are reminded
of past days, bands
of rain or harsh sun
that tightened
their spools across you
year after year.
A long weaving
it was, and it
belongs to you—
this spring pink
and chartreuse,
this fighting orange
and threatful red—
like the blooms open
in the yard. You know them all
though your eyes are shut
for the moment
against loops of cotton
that link, one into one,
to make a whole
wrap that fits you surely,
every curve,
every bone.
Copyright Marek 2019