You folded me carefully,
placed me in a space bag
and stashed me on the highest shelf
in the closet of your mind.

Do you know I am still there?

You did not want to toss me,
but you cannot use me now;
it is not the right season, the right time,
so you have put me away.

Do you remember where I am?

I could be the favorite shirt;
forgotten, then rediscovered;
or the first you seek when the weather changes,
the first you put on.

Or will I be left for years? Forever?

And when I am recovered,
will I be mildewed? Moth-eaten?
Or will I be as good as when we were new?
In either case, you made the choice.

Which one will I be?