I found it in the basket mixed with the sheets

I found it in the basket, mixed with the sheets,

a thin blue ghost from the cold city streets.

It’s patterned with diamonds and faded by lye,

a garment designed for a person to die.

I remember the draft on the back of my neck,

and the plastic snap feeling like a total wreck.

It doesn't quite close, no matter the size,

leaving you open to the bright, sterile eyes.

I fold it up small and I put it away,

this stiff, cotton relic of a terrible day.

It’s too thin for a blanket, too limp for a shirt,

just a scrap of the world that knows how I hurt.