Favorite Sweater

Long rows of perfect stitches
In mustard, goldenrod, not-quite sunshine
Enormous pockets that hide Kleenex,
car keys, chewed-up cuticles.

On days when the whole world is a jagged edge,
Too bright, too loud, too demanding
I’m grateful for generous pockets
Extra insulation between Me and Outside.

The sweater crash-landed in my closet
Thrifted, gifted, maybe stolen from my sister
It was adopted, taken in and wrapped up in
I found a home, nestled inside it.

The arms aren’t quite long enough
It is incomplete, left wanting — and perfect
because I am in the habit of ruining sleeves
by rumpling them up round my elbows.

Sheltered from the cold
My squishy, fearful, human parts are safe
Until I strip it off, toss it in the hamper
I am careless with things I love.