I gave that old t-shirt away last year
There’s no telling who has the thing now.
If I were older, I wonder, would it
Be easier to give up holding on
For my attic might be full of things, old
New, or still attached to some tempered memory.
Or, rather, would it be a heavier thing,
One that I could not yet bear to drop and
Pass on to another with less clothing
For fear that, shirtless,
I am naked, cooling, one relinquishment closer
To that great, galvanized archway, past which
I shall cede my final possession out right
And be bodiless.