Blue Jeans | Chelsea Lane Campbell

The nine pairs of jeans
sitting patiently in the waiting room of my closet
resemble classic ideals of lovers,
front to front, backs to the world.
Pressing against one another,
Lying together in a dark, private space.

Getting dressed this morning,
I pulled out a neglected pair.
I could see my mother’s handiwork
in their precision folding.
Rather than my lover’s retreat,
she had forced them to accordion in,
hip pushed to hip, knee to knee,
halving themselves,
forming a forced crease down the face.
I gave them a shake.
locking eyes with the pockets I decided,
you know,
They look better this way.