The old sweater

A sweater should be warm and generous to snuggle safely into when it's chilly.

A sweater should be warm and generous to snuggle safely into when it’s chilly.


I loved that sweater.

I adored the warmth and the way it smelled like motherhood.

I loved the softness that it offered, the tenderness of triumphant love

I embraced the patterns, the textures, the shifting colors, the lengthening tide

It was my favorite that I brought out whenever I needed to put on my very best outfit

But I snagged it on a dream that stuck out         from the wall just a little too far, too far.

It kept getting caught every time I’d pass         through that doorway into the other room.

I kept meaning to fix that spot on the wall         but there never seemed to be enough time.

The picture of us at Christmas,

(I was wearing that sweater) hangs askew

with chipped glass over my face

That should be non-glaring, but the faces,

the fake happy faces, glare

back at me ungenerously.

I couldn’t see it then.

The sweater was covering my eyes with promises

of generational family traditions.

I wore the sweater f





and wondered why

it kept getting smaller.

Why didn’t it fit any more?

As I look back,

I see the many tangles,



and trail offs

of disconnect-





I mourn for my favorite sweater.

I loved that sweater.

One comment on “The old sweater

  1. Reblogged this on Mare Martell and commented:

    This appears in the shape of an unraveling sweater if viewed on a computer screen. I’m not sure if that will convey on a phone screen. It was my first attempt at the “art” of poetry.

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