Sediment

The closet smells of mothballs and the damp.

I pulled the heavy wool from off the floor.

The color of a dying hallway lamp,

or blood that isn’t quite a secret anymore.

It’s too much red for saying a goodbye.

The sleeve has got a stiff and purple patch,

a spill from some forgotten, frantic night.

The kind of stain that doesn’t even try

to blend in with the threads it couldn’t match.

It’s darker than the suit, and feels too bright.