Friction

The temperature fell like a stone

against the bedroom window.

I pulled the plastic bin from the dust

and found the tan blazer.

The ribs of the fabric are stiff

under my short, bitten nails.

I remember my mother’s face

when I’d rub the sleeves together.

Zip-zip.

A sound like a small animal

trying to dig through a wall.

It used to make her teeth ache.

The elbows are bald now.

The ridges have been sanded down

by years of leaning on laminate bars

and desks that didn't belong to me.