Wednesday, January 1, 2014

Loss: A poem

I wore your sweater
nearly every day for 3 years.
Believing your essence
was somehow
knit into the collar, the sleeves, the
oversized warmth of the
blue yarn.

That sweater saved me.

But death is death,
and you left,
and that is true,
that is real.

So many years ago.
You, my first true love,
my possibility, the one
with the power to christen or damn
me, could not stay.

You have so long
been gone,
and still there is

an unmovable motion,
an inconsolable, eradicable
If I could tell you one last thing:
I want to shed the garment.
Pin the grief to the collar, set
it free on the sleeve,  
untangle the weave
and bask naked in the
sun, or the cold if
I must, but yes.

I want to
let you go.

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