\u201cMan is only a reed, the weakest in nature, but he is a thinking reed.\u201d
\nBlaise Pascal<\/p>\n
Touch the shoulders of shirts and sweaters
\nin the Jarrett Centre. I am. I can tell what
\nI\u2019m attracted to by touch, what makes me feel
\nalive, alien, dirty, or a liar. A lady an aisle over,
\na worker, is cussing shirts that won\u2019t stay on hangers,
\norganizing things. As far as I can tell,
\nreturning chaos to chaos. I\u2019ve done this at
\nwork myself, the cussing, the effort at order.
\nShe asks aloud (to me? ), \u201cWhat song is this?
\nAnd then announces, when it\u2019s over,
\n\u201cBrian Adams, Cuts Like a Knife.\u201d
\nShe\u2019s pretty pleased with herself.
\nWith every item I add to my cart,
\nI return to inspect a detailed list of product prices
\nlaminated to a post. It\u2019s the cheapest thrift store around.
\nEven so, I carefully consider each item.
\nI ask a worker how much books are,
\nhoping they\u2019re a dollar. They\u2019re two.
\nEverything is relative, right. I try on
\na flannel shirt, so old and soft
\nit feels as though it has built-in memories.
\nI look in a mirror and am kind of surprised\u2014
\nI\u2019m not all that. I could have sworn I was
\na moment before. The flannel goes back.
\nThere\u2019s a storm coming on. The staff
\nis excitedly shouting to one another about it,
\ncoaxing friends to borrow coats and umbrellas.
\nWhen I step outside the sky\u2019s black. I stop and listen.
\nAbove the battery of traffic and soughing grasses:
\na first clear liquid-cool snap of thunder.
\nSeven foot tall swathes of common reed
\nbring pulse to a nearby ditch. Despite the traffic,
\nthe train tracks, the Burger King, the Staples
\n(and the buckshot of adjacent businesses,
\nalong with all their shoppers), I\u2019m beguiled.
\nI walk over to it and stand there passing my hands
\nthrough the undulating grasses, utterly amazed,
\nrooted, laughing to myself.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u201cMan is only a reed, the weakest in nature, but he is a thinking reed.\u201d Blaise Pascal Touch the shoulders of shirts and sweaters in the Jarrett Centre. I am. I can tell what I\u2019m attracted to by touch, what makes me feel alive, alien, dirty, or a liar. A lady an aisle over, a…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":222,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"issue":[10],"coauthors":[],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n