shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

David Mihalyov

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Letting Go

She asks if I want any of his clothes.
Ties out of style before I was born,
shirts that touched his skin.
She wants me to wear part of him.

We move through the basement.
Paint cans, glass jars half-filled with nails, screws—
decades of mismatches and leftovers.
He could have organized before leaving.

We want her to wait, to not erase so soon,
though she keeps the stamp collection,
knowing that something in which so much
time was invested must hold value.