by Traci L. Slatton

My hat warned of twisting postures
 an old rag, really, but after a quarter century
 imbued with my fondness.
 It was suddenly gone, vanished 
 as if it had never been yet it was 
 full of my cranium, and my hair, and various 
 dreams that had rattled through while it wore me

 A pair of sunglasses featured 
 in favorite photos, me kissing my little daughter
 growing in front of my eyes
 asking to board away at a distant school
 next to my friend the blonde Countess
 she of evanescent visits

 All that is 
 even my yoga 
 studio closed, the community
 and the classes I enjoyed
 the shala of my heart
 a pair of suede boots my husband bought me. Will I ever find 
 them again?
 all that is 
 like the close touch of a mate who has shed 
 over another woman,
 younger than me,
 and that faith misplaced
 along with haberdashery and footwear and other 
 miscellany, even people. 

 Another warrior, a longer dog, a deeper backbend 
 to open my heart.
 I move through until the body trembles denying 
 myself reprieve.
 It is loss that is union.