I've got a sweater that smells like
"cabinet." It lives in my filing
cabinet at work and lies in wait for
unexpected, indoor arctic blasts
and unsightly wardrobe catastrophes.
A hand-me-up from my little sister,
the black cardigan sports
endearing, white pill balls and
a hole in the armpit region.
Despite its geriatric-like shrinkage,
I can't bring myself to throw
the poor thing away, remembering
all the years and relationships
and jobs and moves that we've
weathered together.
© 2007 Amy E. Hall
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment