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Socks

Another thing better enjoyed together,
I washed your two, long, black ribbed ones,
my ankle-length ochre ones,
and when I shook everything onto the bed to fold,
mine had nestled inside yours
like kidney stones,
all four still sopping wet,
sodden stacking dolls
clinging to one another
in that hot and violent tumble
dryer—notorious for lost souls—
these pairs desperate not to be left behind,
mismatched, discarded. I gently
pulled my socks out of your socks,
hung them in the window, wooly
prayer flags, surrender,
where the sun
pours through like love,
day in, day out.


Jessy Edwards is a poet and journalist living in Brooklyn, New York. Originally from New Zealand, she was a 2020 Brooklyn Poets Fellow. She has been published by Antics Publications and was a 2021 Brooklyn Poets ‘Poet of the Week.’ 

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