Christmas Sweater

Shimmying across

the street, you find me

paused on the sidewalk,

zipping my coat

against the backside

of October. You say you

and your fiancé are raft guides

and live in Soddy Daisy—

a part of Tennessee I have

never noticed. You wear

my only attempt at knitting,

the woolen sweater

of royal blue with accidental

three-quarter’s-length sleeves.

I spent a week choosing

the right color.

I cannot hear you rave

about contentment

because the moth-riddled

holes over your chest

and the unraveling

at your elbows remind me

of what we once were—

misshapen, threadbare.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s