The smells are catholic—mildew and sweat
that cling to hand-me-downs.
The mannequins wear the dazed air of irradiation survivors—
clumps of hair torn out,
missing limbs and mismatched clothes.
I am miles from home, hunting for a cheap paperback.
The stink and jumble of the Goodwill store
conjure my Grandmother.
Straight-backed, she pushes a shopping cart   
between ripped wedding dresses and stained bedding.
She passes through me, looking for bargains
free for a while from the nursing home
where I used to lift her skinny frame from the tub,
her backbone like beads under my fingers
as I dried her off and helped her dress.
I turn to follow her shadow
afraid to touch anything.