Woven
My family sold towels
with flat-weave trims,
rough scrubbers built in.
The border seam,
a tool for clearing a stye
or toothpick in a pinch.
Don’t leave
your towels alone,
draped on mildew glass.
Don’t weaponize
them in a locker room.
The towel smothers blood
without question.
The towel weeps
for each of us,
alone in a bucket.
*
Brett Stuckel’s writing has appeared in Wordgathering, Electric Literature, Hobart, Split Lip Magazine, and elsewhere. He lives in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, and is online at www.brettstuckel.com.

What a great poem. Thanks to Mark and Brett for this.