Gravity and Terrycloth

The shower didn't wash anything away.

I stepped out and let the towel fall,

a heavy, sodden heap on the floor

where I left it yesterday.

It’s still there, a dark and damp circle

spreading on the cracked linoleum

where the cotton has finally given up.

I should pick it up, hang it on the rack,

but the weight of it feels honest.

It’s the only thing in this apartment

that knows exactly how much it can carry.