The Sweater

I awaken because I can feel it. Winter is here.

At 1:13 a.m. it arrives on my doorstep, tired and winded,

an old lover I never really wanted to be friends with

but lie to because it sounds better than goodbye forever.

Dragging myself from my almost dreams,

I make myself believe that this ragged blue sweater

I wear like armor against the early winter chill

could have been yours. So I rush outside to imagine

the feeling of you or us, I can’t quite remember it now -

maybe just to feel the cold air caress my face.

Because only in the deep night cold,

when my body still radiates warmth from bed,

can I close my eyes and imagine

you overwhelm me, enter me, pass through me,

sleep inside me -

in all those places no one ever thinks to search,

like the corner of my closet where a sweater,

smelling vaguely like winter rests, waiting to be worn again.


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