CALL ME BELOVED

ostensibly I was watching
so when it finally comes time
for me to iron my own shirts
I won’t burn the house down –
I was raised to know better and
she deserves this much, at least,
that I present myself to the world
unwrinkled and with dignity.

what happened was I watched her hands
as she told the familiar story,
working guilt into the fabric with
short, sure strokes of the iron.
the feeling isn’t unfamiliar, my heart
becoming a quick tremor in my chest –
as she placed the shirt on the hanger
her love and perfect motherliness
was reaffirmed in the thousandth way
she knew how.

what happened in the morning
when I put in on, fingers dancing
over the buttons and looking in the mirror –
I was swimming in it. I looked
like a ten year old in his fathers shirt
and briefly felt the part, too.

if I was worried, then, what I’d wear
it only lasted a second – she’d left
another shirt waiting in the bedroom
when I went to search.