We are beings of memories and things,
The Venn Diagram of Existence,
These gloves at my center.
Their interior worn by hands and gravity,
More leather than warmth,
An exterior bruised from a life.
A peace sign and a Vulcan greeting,
The middle finger in obdurate times,
ASL Love every day, if only in my heart.
Snowballs, fallen leaves, a skipping rock or two,
Too many goodbye waves to cherished ones,
Never enough hello hugs.
A hundred steering wheels,
A billion plastic bags,
Three pairs of small hands, lost in time.
Lost and Found a hundred times,
Companions though my forever,
They are me.
Are we what we wear? These gloves were issued to me in Air Force basic training in October 1981 and have gone around the world. Everything has changed since then, it seems, and it almost takes my breath away when I think about the memories in these gloves. Someday they’ll be lost to me forever, but not today.
Edit: I keep editing this after it got posted. Just me being me.