The Old Suit

i have a suit in my closet that i wore
when i was twenty two
years old.

it's a pale grey, with cuffs, no less.

it looks like the suit for a small
skinny child. which i was.

i'd have to be dead for a month
in order to fit into it now.

but i think about the time gone by
since i wore
that suit.

the relationships that have come and
gone. real love, fake love.
imaginary love.

the jobs, the houses and apartments
lived in.
the cars i drove.

the places i went.
i think about all the friends
that I've had,

some still here, others, long gone.
i look in the pocket and find the ticket
stubs

to The Way We Were from a theater
on glebe road in Arlington.

it's hard to throw away a suit like
that,

something that reminds me of the beginning.
i hold it up
to the light,

then hang it back to where it was.
another year
and we're both still here.