Head Space
shrinking
shrunken hoodies
thump in a spin cycle.
my altar is cotton-blend,
softened by hot water wash
rage, rinse, repeat.
each hoodie a head,
shrinking with time
but still whispering names
of the ones I kissed,
the fights I picked,
cold winters I survived.
stigmata hidden
beneath fraying cuffs.
rolled up and over the tears.
pull strings long lost
and misplaced with our rosaries.
threadbare saints hang
dripping from coat hooks.
faint whiff of past lovers
still lingering in the weft,
offering no absolution,
yielding only uncertain warmth.
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This is really powerful, and stuck with me: ‘threadbare saints hang
dripping from coat hooks.
faint whiff of past lovers
still lingering in the weft,
offering no absolution’ - it reminds me of Hozier’s lyrics. Fabulous!
This poem feels intimate, aching, and so beautifully textured. I loved how you turned something as ordinary as hoodies in a wash cycle into a meditation on memory, love, survival, and loss. The ending is especially strong — tender, unresolved, and quietly devastating.