Rehab Robe

You finger life’s texture
More contemplatively
Around the bottom hem

Of experience—sun,
Someone being cheerful,
A lack of demanding

Chores and obligations—
Quality elements
Of an afternoon sunk

In a drab rehab ward
At the end of the road,
Next to the nursing home.

When you were young, you’d go
Volunteer on Sundays
To visit such places

And then get back to life.
Now here it is, old robe
Frayed, like you, soft, like you.