What Sticks

The sticky sheet is half covered already,

fibers and dust collected like they belong,

like the lint is doing what it's supposed to do—

stick to something other than my clothes.

I peel it off and grab a fresh one.

Back and forth across the sweater.

The motion is almost meditative,

almost makes me feel like I'm actually cleaning something.

But nothing's actually going anywhere.

The lint comes off the sweater,

sticks to the roller,

the roller fills up,

I peel it off and grab a fresh sheet.

Nothing disappears.

I have a drawer full of these things.

Three, maybe four.

I keep buying new ones

like the next one will be different,

like I've learned something

that will make the accumulation stop.

But they all work the same way.

They all fill up.

They all get thrown away.

They all get replaced.

Nothing actually goes away.

It just gets transferred.

From my clothes to the sheet,

from the sheet to the trash,

from the trash to somewhere else

where it will collect with other lint,

other small debris of living.

I roll it across the sweater one more time.

The sticky sheet is almost full.

I know what comes next.

I peel it off.

I grab another.

The drawer is always full of them.

The work is never done.