Goodwill Hunting

It was in the racks 
of old musty clothes 
where we seemed 
to have the 
most in common 

Sliding through 
plastic hangers 
and confederate tees, 
this is where 
we were okay, 

where we could 
move through  
mountains of cotton, 
no words spoken, except 
for the excitement 

of a ‘good find.’ 
Where we stood, 
here in these discarded 
piles of people’s past lives, 
we understood ours 

You saved your 
favorite Levi’s jeans, 
your personal best find 
(adding holes to your belt 
when your weight decreased) 

and the ones you wore 
when the doctor said 
the cancer came back— 
the frayed bottoms 
shivering in fear 

The ones we 
moved to a little  
cardboard box 
when mom and I 
sorted through your things 

And the ones I  
still have 
and swear  still smell 
like your cologne. 
I have your Levi’s, dad. 

They’re safe with me.