sunday's poem

cleaning

he found the nest
of annie's nylons in the back
of the top left hand drawer when he
was clearing out the bedroom.
he sat on a chair, the wad
in his hands. they stopped
his momentum more forcefully
than any of her other things. more than the books
papers sweaters lipsticks shampoos music.
the nylons recalled the intimate shape of her legs.
the way she would walk. sometimes
it had been hard to know where her body
left off and his had begun. it was even harder now
that she wasn't here to remind him
where his skin met the air.