corduroy
by Abby Palopoli
to mom
rows of polyester hills run parallel down my legs
their soft dunes slope over my knees to graze my ankles
my fingernails trace their edges for trapped lint
down the hallways of beach day remains
their faded olive hue colors yellowing grass
smells of autumn and my mother's perfume
she wore motherhood on her legs
held it in her warm throned lap
these stitches become relics
of an eternally october woman