Sweaters
Your hair always sticks in my ragwool sweater,
but I don’t mind.
The little dark threads remind me of you,
like when the smell of your
perfume lingers
in the yarn.
I love seeing you bundled up in my sweaters,
almost lost in the huge softness.
When I think of you,
you are always in a sweater,
mine or yours.
The pink fuzzy one I like so much
that you always wear with a
skirt,
or the big beige knit
I got in
that you wear like a blanket
when you sit on my bed against
the cold wall
studying.
All I thought about in
was you and what you’d like;
the sheep grazing in the
fields,
the incredible greenness of it
all.
I bought you a sweater
and gave it to you for
Christmas,
praying the arms wouldn’t be
too short (or too long).
I love bundling you up to go sledding,
like little kids with a snowy
day off from school,
and drinking hot cocoa
with peppermint schnapps in it
to thaw out after having so
much fun
in the cold air.
KWF