your sweater

from my poetry book "sweet familiarity"

the collection of boxes, clothing

and bottles in the backseat of

my car on top of your sweater.

the arrangement that speaks

volumes. the grandiose hoard

that showed me i was better.

the sweater you left in my

room before you dropped me

from your life completely,

leaving me a polyester piece

of you, as your heart was too

precious and your full attention

catered to somebody new. i had

wished you could have seen me

using your sweater to catch my

tears and cover me on lonely

nights when i laughed at myself

for thinking someone could fill

your place. the aroma of it

triggered vivid memories of us

laughing for hours on end, a

picture i wanted to forget but

didn’t mind seeing each night.

a fabric full of your good morning

kisses and sangria serenades.

one that i could hug to my chest

and feel like you were there for just

a moment. i hugged it less and less

and then your sweater wasn’t in my

room at all. during a move, it

relocated to the front seat of my

car. when she needed somewhere

to sit, it relocated to the

backseat. when we planned a trip,

it was covered in bags. then, my clothing.

then some empty water bottles from

when we got thirsty. your sweater is in

my backseat, if you need it.