sleeves

Watching her sleeve move ever-so-lightly downward in a bent slouch as she reached up to pull the stop-signal cord on the bus, I remembered you. It was a long sleeve with a big cuff, oversized really, that when ‘laxed, fell comfortably around the palm ending appropriately at the beginning of the first set of knuckles. The cuff was sturdy and narrow, giving off the impression that it was a glove for the hand rather then the end of a shirt sleeve. When reaching, the sleeve casually with subtle lightness fell back to release the hand from the home it lived. I found myself surprised by how my heart worn weary on the edge of my own sleeve gave way to endearing love for hers.

You have been so forgotten for so long, lost between the louder rhythms panging in my head – studying for class, assignments due, and the tasky endeavor of creating a clinical program in hopes that a published paper may come out of the attempt; polishing my skills for the promotion at work and the preparations for the flight onwards. I treated you like a regimented cover, though weary, kept clean and spotless with that professional gleam I’ve been harboring. I forgot you hanging out exposed in my days, redirecting myself to more important things. But really I’ve never known how to work you, as evidenced by the sudden flutter from the simple movement of a stranger. You sang so loud it changed this cadence in self and all I wanted to do was remember you. Remember you.