Kamaskera The Other Sleeve

The washing has gone stiff on the line
I know this yard, though the house has its back to me
Our dresses hang beside the sheets
Mine has the torn pocket. Lora's has a button I meant to replace

There is no wind at ground level
Above the chimney, everything travels sideways

I take down her dress first
The pegs have bitten little squares into the cloth
Behind me, the gate knocks against its post
Lora stands there barefoot, holding my shoes

I keep hold of her sleeve
There is room for both of us in whatever comes next

The path reaches the road, then carries on where the road should turn
Neither of us mentions it
She gives me one shoe
There is a small white stone inside

I tip it into my palm. It is warm
We used to bring things home in our pockets
Feathers. Bent nails. Fruit we had no business picking
Once, a mouse that stayed through supper

I put the stone in the torn pocket
Lora watches it fall through
Her mouth moves at one corner
I keep hold of her sleeve

There is room for both of us in whatever comes next
Beyond the gate, rain climbs the fence posts
I reach for the dress beneath my arm
Both sleeves are full