I came home and put that hoodie on.

I saw it on my door

and then I saw it in my arms,

and then on my body.

I’ve never known how something 

could hold a person’s smell.

I wish I could have known then.

I wish I could have been able to fish out your scent,

like that hound did.

I wore it and all he could do was run around me,

smelling the aroma you left behind.

I slept in that hoodie and,

at some point,

it had to be washed.

You fled from the fabric,

and that dog no longer ran around me.

I wanted to leave it.

What was the point if nobody 

could even smell you on it anymore?

But, for some odd reason,

I thought, ‘If I keep it, I can imagine 

that your fragrance is still there.’

Now, I come home

and I see that gray hoodie

on my door,

and then a black one

and then a bag.

And just like that,

you disappear.

-10/21/21