Not Even a Sock

I used to find them

everywhere - stuck to my

sweaters, buried in shoes, tucked in-

between the couch cushions,stuffed

under the welcome mat, crisping

on the furnace, by the side

of the bed, folded into

the sheets, dripping and hanging

from the shower rod, under the cat, orphans

in piles after laundry day. Then I woke up

one day and they were all gone. Not them alone,

but the mountain of shoes, the curtain

of scarves, the scattered lost treasures

of bobby pins, even the red and green

SantaClaws kitty-cat oven mitts kept

in the very back of the the cupboard

above the fridge, protected from grease.

In their place was a long, multi-paged note

that ended all the same.