Cold Cling

It lay there, a sodden grey lump,

forgotten since morning, a damp sigh.

My hand closed round it, a sudden thud,

a cold, dead weight against the thigh.

More than cloth and water, it felt

like something else, a burden known.

The clammy fibers, slowly melt

the last of warmth I'd ever owned.

I tossed it in the tub, a wet smack.

It landed with a final, heavy cling.

Another small thing, holding back.

Another damp, unmoving thing.