Peel

I’m trying to look like a person

who has their life in a folder.

The black wool of this blazer

is a magnet for everything I’ve lost.

I roll the sticky paper over my arm

and there it is: a long orange hair

from the cat that’s been under the

lilac bush since last November.

The paper is gray with dust

and a single, dried-out gnat,

and I keep peeling layers away

but the wool is still holding the dead.