by Sonja Johanson

Today, I set free all the odd socks – the whole jumbled
mismatched basket of them. Perky, purple girl ones
with their tattoo patterns; black and navy dress socks
you couldn’t tell apart; an enormous herd
of white cotton ones, all sizes. So many years
spent guarding and sorting by age, colour, material,
owner, size. Patiently watching for missing mates
that the dryer long ago chewed to lint.

But I had to admit it was time to let them go.
I made sure that they were dry and clean,
stroked their fuzzy wool, then tucked them
in their basket, and drove to a nice spot
in the country. I lifted the lid and watched
them slip away. The house is so quiet now.

Sonja Johanson serves as the training coordinator for the Massachusetts Master Gardener Association. She has recent work appearing in the Albatross Poetry Journal and Shot Glass Poetry Journal. She divides her time between work in Massachusetts and her home in the mountains of western Maine.