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.
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…
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