Eighteen
Each leg of them
was frayed
at bottom
a denim column
she had patched
with eighteen hearts—
the places at the knees
where cigarettes
had shamed them
where sidewalks gnawed
at seat-of-pants
my own threadbare
intentions
eighteen hearts—
presented on denim
for my birthday
when we fought
about some boy
(if I remember)
she disapproved of
hearts—
cut from rags
stitched into a mantle
to protect me
til goodness spooled
until I mended