Old Clothes Poem by Mohamed Eid

I saw at the bottom of my closet
In a pile of old clothes
My blue shirt that had a hole,
From cigarette flames
From long gone days
Falling from my fingers
When my grip loosens on them
When I'm drunk, or
Half asleep, from being so.

And it reminded me of her
In that far winter in our youth
And her yellow pullover that had a hole too.
Not from cigarettes falling,
But from being old and worn
In winters and places that I may not know

She used it at home
To warm herself in the cold
And I embraced her in it
And passed two or three fingers
Through its hole
And felt the heavenly touch
Of her skin

She drew back – smiling lovingly-
From the cold of my fingers,
Then offered to warm my hands!

She's gone now;
And I am gone too, for years.
My blue shirt remains in my old closet
And her yellow pullover,
I guess, in her old closet too!