as an old sweater I outgrew
with holes big as blood clots
and unravelling
uneven, fuzzy pilling
broken fibers
tangled into knots
but not willing
to throw the tattered woolly
mammoth out
because despite the loose threads
faded color
and unsharpened arms
that look like cow’s teats
which haven’t been milked in weeks
it still provides me warmth
each time I slip it on