Accumulation

The mattress screeched against the floorboards,

opening a gap I haven't seen in years.

There was the silver earring,

half-buried in a drift of soft gray.

It’s a felted history of the room,

a thick wool made of my own shed skin

and the hair I didn't know I was losing.

I touched the pile with a finger,

and the soft gray fur just crumbled

against the baseboard.