My Closet Keeps the Spore

The threat of hurricane Milton came and went.

I was surprised by the lack of damage it spared,

or so I thought.

Behind the denial of drywall.

But weeks later,

reaching for my vintage leopard,

my fingers sank into damp fur.

Spores crept

along the spine of every coat— a secret kept.

But how could I have noticed, when I only went in there to face the cold.

The smell climbs the walls

but only when the air gets stale.

I wish I could tip the whole house over and wring it out like a sponge.

But now it’s hard to breathe.