Very nice visualization through your words.  The beat of the poem is also well done.  The meaning and reason behind the poem is not as understood I do not think although you may not want it blatent of course. 

"musty thing of dying rags
once flew like light
floated around two scraped knees
nurtured dandelions, kneeling in the dirt"
 

easily my favorite lines from your poem.  They just seem to create questions as well as a personal visual image of ones own past.

Kudos.

Wow.  This was awesome.  I hope you win the contest with this one.  One of the best poems I've read on this site.

What a lovely poem - and lovely does seem to be the word that fits.  You can literally see a piece of clothe lying half out of a chest in the attic, rays of afternoon light striking it and then fading - hmmm - I see a poem coming.  Good works are like that to me, they encourage me to write, my hand starts itching for a pen and paper.  I love your imagery

each stitch, every hem
made by misshapen crumbling hands
creased from disuse

I can see a grandmother lovingly making an outfit for her treasured granddaughter. 

However the beginning lines

perhaps just a wrinkle of faded cloth
or a long-gone memory
it waits crumpled
at the bottom of
a closet

feel like they need just a bit more elaboration or clarification.  I guess I do feel it would work better if the clothe could be seen, therefore evoking the memory.  I don't understand the following line and why it is placed where it is

immortalized in black and white

Otherwise, I truly loved this poem.  It brought to mind all those things I think a grandmother should be - all the things I try to be now to my twin nieces.  Thank you for sharing it.

Wow, it's interesting how you never realize that old things tend to pile up, but you never want to let go. Old clothes from your childhood, dolls, books, movies, posters, used movie tickets, everything! You don't realize what you have until it's gone, I guess. I loved your choice of words and color visualization. Did you think of this while cleaning? You, maybe, just happened to be cleaning out your closet and there it is? It's amazing how some things just come to you. That's how poetry is though, it may come to you all of a sudden, or it may take time to blossom.