My Mother Bought Me a Scarf

It came from a catalogue. I opened
the plastic bag inside the plastic bag

and out tumbled fabric fine as flesh.
From the hem hung a thread I thought

to free with one swift tug. But this
was like pulling a river from the sea. Strand

of hair: long and black and woven all
its shimmering length. Of course

I wondered who she was. I read the tag
and closed my eyes until someone nearly

appeared to me. Let’s not pretend I knew
her life. I wore the scarf most days.

As for the river, I didn’t know what to do
with what I’d found, so I threw it away.