I remember you wearing it not long before you died, the Jim Morrison face looking out at me where your stomach warmly used to be.
I wore it in a kind of remembrance; a need to feel where once your body snuggled up against the cloth; wanting to feel the place where you had touched, to sense another feel where you had been.
I didn’t want to take it off.
It seemed another warm embrace of son and father, like we did just now and then, less so, for some reason, as grown men.
I’ve worn your Doors tee shirt.
It suited you better than it does on me; it hangs on me where it hugged you tight.
I’ll wear the tee shirt with the Morrison features, feel the cloth which you once felt, sense the touch of you once more in mind and heart; believe some particle of you may still reside in cloth’s worn hold, that you may ever be there in every fold
On the wearing of my late son Ole's Doors tee shirt.