Flannel Coat

Putting away clothes piles last night--
Bisque has dubbed me "Piles" because little stacks
of my stuff accumulate all over our apartment.
Piles of sweaters on the ground by my half of the bed,
piles of papers next to the couch, piles
of candy wrappers on the kitchen table, it goes on.
So putting away a pile last night your flannel coat
fell on me from the back of the closet.
It is blue checkered. You lent it to me
when I was 20 and never took it back. I quite liked
it and paired it with my daisy slip-ons.
The next year we disagreed about a girl's short story
in Advanced Fiction Writing. In the story some girl
was talking to an ex-boyfriend and told him she still
wore his old band tee to bed. You said, "That's weird,
you would never wear an ex's clothes after you
broke up." I said, "I would if I liked the clothes!"
It's my flannel coat, and I don't remember you
in it. I wear it, me. This was the first time in years
I thought about
where it came from.

Two Piles People

Monday and Tuesday my school held department-wide exit exams. All my classes had v serious essays scheduled. I set up a pile of prompt papers on the podium and finished exams on the chair adjacent. I didn't make an announcement about the two piles as to not disturb the silence. I did write "PROMPTS" and "EXAMS" with coordinating arrows on the whiteboard. There are two types of students.

There is the type of student who sees the piles and quietly places the appropriate papers the appropriate places. But the majority of students (like by a lot) shuffled toward me eyes glazed holding out papers like they were babies and I was a doorstep. I would often (trying to keep quiet) point to the piles, and even then many people would look, turn back, "Should I...? Where should I...?" It's pretty obvious. Being empathetic, I could consider the fact that this is an important exam, and everyone wants to be double sure. But being realistic, you can figure it out. You can do it. Do it.