sweater
sweet
"you taste it"
sweet
I feel it with you
as I am enveloped in this sweater that
smells
feels
tastes
breathes
like you
comforting and warm, like you
woven and fragile, like you
itchy and scratchy, like you
like
you
if I could wear this sweater forever I would
to be held by the very fabric that has hugged your person that has hugged me
that I long for
that I think of as I remember that this is the first thing I put on after you felt me
all of me, with you
that this was the first thing you let me have, and take
that this was what you trusted me with
your Christmas sweater
what I put on for reassurance
that you want me and need me
what I put on for safety
when I feel like I'm losing it
I'm falling now though
in this sweater
backwards into that ocean
and I'm scared, sweater
that as days pass he loses me
that his image of me fades and drifts away
that he forgets the sound of my voice
that my touch on his body has evaporated
sweater, I want to hold him as he does me
this image in my mind of his smirk
his lanky but grand stature
his sturdy hands and brittle nails
his smell of Old Spice
his blonde bed head
I want to hold it all
and I want to hear it all, sweater
how he used to light everything in his path on fire as a child
how he owns a mug with his face on it as a little boy
how he lost it all to one person, like me
sweater I can feel myself falling
I'm losing my balance
I can't stand
I'm trying to protect my heart because I'm afraid to let it go
but a part of me fears I already have
and it's lost
in his arms
bare and bleeding
and yet here I am
wearing his sweater
alone and yearning.

my sweater keeps me warm
when i am cold in study hall
and when the art room is 43 degrees

my sweater keeps me warm
when it is raining outside
and within my body
because i am soaked to the bone

my sweater keeps me warm
even though it's the only thing
i'm wearing in the winter
and my breath forms clouds in the night sky

my sweater keeps me warm
because it has flowers in the fall
and reminds me who i am
that i am who i want to be
that there is only one of me

my sweater keeps in the heat
and hides invisible bruises in the summer
but only when i want it to
i can to show myself if i want to
i can take off my sweater
when i want to, you see
my sweater keeps me warm
when their fingers are like ice
just because you can feel
doesn't mean that something's there

my sweater stops cold hands
from groping my chest
as if they're trying to find a treasure

my sweater
is the oil when we have no heat
igniting a new warmth to cradle others
but only if i want it to

my sweater is mine,
no one else's
and I get to decide what to do with it

i don't need
protection
i'm okay with my warm bit of symbolism
that fuels my independence
and kindles my soul
no one can save me in this matter
only i can help myself

my sweater keeps me warm
when i have a lack of faith
and no God to believe in
because i am my own savior.

I own an ugly sweater
It has tatters and tears
Misshapen patterns
And holes everywhere

From the missing tag
That’s been savagely clawed and cut out
Why companies make them so scratchy
I have yet to find out.

Cheese grader sized holes
From where hungry moths attacked
For their personal enjoyment
Or a midnight snack.

A perfectly good sweater
And being prone to sharp corners
Don’t pair well together
Just ask my unraveling thread
That’s been caught onto edges
And hideously snagged.

It’s humorously sad
Go ahead, you can laugh
Your sweater is next
The moths are coming
I promise you that.

The bottom frays like a hippy
I would say it looks cool
But that style died in the seventies
Just wait, that that trend will recycle
I’m not in denial.

The fabric and material
What’s left of it
Is a delicate cashmere…

Alright fine, it’s a scratchy wool
Ancient, archaic, and feels like Velcro.

Sometimes leaves cling
So I look like a tree
The optimistic side of me
Just says nature loves me.

But I could do without the bees
Ohh so many stings…

The insides are bumpy
From being cleaned on high heat
Now my sweater suffers from dwarfism
It’s challenged vertically.

The wrists are stretched out
From being rolled up and down
Permanently smells like dirt or meat
Depending on my activity
Or what I had to eat.

Blackened mascara speckles the sleeve
From dramatic tears
Or being too lazy to grab a tissue
As if my sweater doesn’t have enough issues
I drag in my problems
My pendulum swinging emotions
If my sweater were human
I swear, it would leave me.

It’s been thrown on the floor
Tossed in the back of my car
Tied around my waist
And forgotten in stores
I always say sorry
I hope it forgives me.

From the sleeves that cradles sneezes
Hugs are completed
Sharing germs or sharing love
All becomes one experience.
You’re welcome.

The front like a canvas
A Jackson ******* painting
Ubiquitous splatters of coffee stains.

Missing sips that dripped off my lips
From being scolding hot
Or scarce concentration
But nine times out of ten
It’s my deficient attention.

Looking like it’s been through hell
And no denying it has.
Sure, I could donate this human sized rag
But they wouldn’t know the story behind
Each stain and frayed thread.

They would see the sweater as just ugly
Dismiss there was even a journey
They wouldn’t ask
The why’s or how’s it came to be.

This sweater is not just fabric
It’s a memory
An extension of me.
…
..
.
But seriously,
I should get this dry-cleaned
It’s disgusting.

But I love it.

Bom Bom
Bom Bom
Bom Bom
Do you hear that?

That's the sound of my heart beating.

Bom Bom
Bom Bom
Bom Bom
Do you hear that?
That's the sound of your heart beating.

It was first day of October. I was wearing my blue sweater,
You know the one I bought at Dillard's? The one with a
double-knitted hem and holes in the ends of the sleeves
that I could poke my thumbs through
when it was cold but I didn't feel like wearing gloves?
It was the same sweater you said made my eyes look
like reflections of the stars on the ocean.
You promised to love me forever that night. . .
and boy
did you
ever.

It was the first day of December this time. I was wearing
my blue sweater, you know the one I bought at Dillard's?
The one with a double-knitted hem and holes in the ends of the sleeves that I could poke my thumbs through when it was cold I
didn't feel like wearing gloves?
It was the same sweater you said made my eyes look like
reflections of the stars on the ocean.
I told you I was three weeks late.
You told me it was fate.
You promised to love me forever that night. . .
and boy
did you
ever!

It was the first day of May. I was wearing my blue sweater,
although this time the double-stitched hem was worn
and the strength of each thread tested as they were pulled
tight against my growing belly. You know one.
The same one I bought at Dillard's?
The one with holes in the ends of the sleeves that I
could poke my thumbs through when it was cold but
I didn't feel like wearing gloves?
It was the same sweater you said made my eyes look like
reflections of the stars on the ocean.

The SAME sweater you RIPPED off my body
as you shoved me to the floor,
calling me a *****,
telling me
you didn't love me
anymore.

Bom Bom
Bom Bom
Bom Bom
Do you hear that? That's the sound of my heart beating.

Bom Bom
Bom Bom
Bom Bom
Do you hear that? That's the sound of your heart beating.



Do you hear that? Of course you don't.
That's the silence of my womb because you
RIPPED OFF MY SWEATER.

The smell of your sweater makes me think about the times we had together.
About the first time, I smelled your scent and thought to myself: ‘This is the smell of the person I am falling for.’ I saved your smell in my memories, so I would not forget.
The smell of your sweater makes me think about the first time I woke up next to you and crawled my body against yours. The way you sniffed my hair and told me I smelled nice. The way I kissed your chest and held on tight.
The smell of your sweater makes me think about how you looked at me. Like I was the most precious thing in the world and the way that look made me feel so beautiful.
The smell of your sweater makes me want to look at you like I used to look at you.
The smell of your sweater gives me butterflies imagining your arms around me, your kisses on my cheeks, my lips, my neck, my breast.

The smell of your sweater makes me cry because all those things are out of reach for me now. The smell makes me want to scream because I don’t know how to fix this and make it better. It makes me want to punch the walls until my knuckles bleed, but I won’t feel it compared to the way I feel about losing you.
The smell reminds me of the way you loved me and how I don't want you to stop loving me just because you can’t reach me and I can’t reach you...
It makes me think of the thousands of miles between us.

The smell of your sweater makes me think of love and the heartbreak that comes with it.

SWEATERS ON – SWEATERS OFF

Sitting board-room style for hours on end, her sweater on – sweater off
at times too cool to concentrate,
        other times not wanting to perspire
they both thought it a shame to waste such a lovely day indoors
at times staring out the window trash blustered along the street,
at times watching her, sweater on – sweater off

He was happy to buy lunch hoping they could leave office confines
      even for an hour
the sun and the brisk walk for sandwiches and tea
       would warm them sufficiently
to inevitably leave off, the sweater off that afternoon

He admired her – not just to look at - but appreciate
the nape of her neck, soft smooth shoulders giving way
        to the work-out bicepts
it was inconceivable that a man in his right mind
would cast such treasures aside
smallish ******* still-firm protruding from the blouse
        beneath the off-sweater
breathing in – breathing out

He knew so very little about female biology,
        being a man was difficult enough
curious to learn more about her “change of life”
almost apologetic about her wrestling with
         sweater on – sweater off
yet wise enough to steer clear, leaving such questions unasked.

The distraction for him was much more approval, than gawk
wondering whether she would quietly smile
during the occasional too long glare
or would she alley-slap him silly for being so brutishly insensitive
ogling while she struggled with sweater on – sweater off

Pen in hand, head down, back-to-work, such questions left unasked
                              although the appreciation continues.......

Blue.
Blue eyes,
not like the ocean tides
or a pretty sky
but blue,
bright,
clear,
with strands of white
and miscilaneous colors
weaved into the fibers.
Blue,
like my sweater.

Blonde.
Blonde hair,
***** and smooth.
Not like the sandy beach
or the dry grass in the field.
But blonde,
thick,
wavy,
and you scratch your head a lot.
Itchy,
like my sweater.

Pink.
Pink Lips.
Not like any flower
or beautiful sunset.
But pink,
thin,
chapped,
with blinding white stars
hidden behind them.
Covering,
like my sweater.

Freckles
across your face.
Not like splatter paint
or migrating birds.
But freckled,
brown,
random,
little dots dancing
on your cheeks.
Cute,
like my sweater.

Skin.
Pale skin.
Not like fresh snow
or the paper these words are on.
But pale,
soft,
tight
and warm as you hold my hand.
Comforting,
like my sweater.

And with every
stitch and knot of this sweater,
I embrace your love
and how every morning you'll
walk that extra distance
just to give me a hug.
And I always wear our sweater.

All I am is a man
I want the world in my hands
I hate the beach
But I stand in California
With my toes in the sand

Use the sleeves of my sweater
Let's have an adventure
Head in the clouds but my gravity's centered
Touch my neck and I'll touch yours
You in those little high waisted shorts, oh

She knows what I think about
And what I think about
One love, two mouths
One love, one house
No shirt, no blouse
Just us, you find out
Nothing that we don't wanna tell you about, no

'Cause it's too cold
For you here right now
So let me hold
Both your hands in the holes of my sweater

And if I may just take your breath away
I don't mind if it's not much to say
Sometimes the silence guides our minds to
Move to a place so far away

The goose bumps start to raise
The minute that my left hand meets your waist
And then I watch your face
Put my finger on your tongue
'Cause you love the taste yeah

These hearts adore
Everyone the other beats hardest for
Inside this place is warm
Outside it starts to pour

Coming down
One love, two mouths
One love, one house
No shirt, no blouse
Just us, you find out
Nothing that I wouldn't wanna tell you about, no, no, no

'Cause it's too cold
For you here right now
So let me hold
Both your hands in the holes of my sweater

'Cause it's too cold
For you here and now
So let me hold
Both your hands in the holes of my sweater

Whoa, whoa...

Whoa, whoa, whoa...

Whoa, whoa, whoa...

Whoa, whoa, whoa...

Whoa, whoa, whoa...

Whoa, whoa...

'Cause it's too cold
For you here right now
So let me hold
Both your hands in the holes of my sweater

It's too cold
For you here right now
Let me hold
Both your hands in the holes of my sweater

And it's too cold,
It's too cold,
The holes of my sweater...

behind the creaky old door,
in the middle of the hall
lay a shelf of forgotten things
the old board games,
a box full of mittens,
nana's yellow coat,
and that bright red sweater.

i had never seen that sweater,
i'd remember if i had
the threads are burning scarlet
and it fit me like a charm.

the moment i laid eyes on it
i knew that it was mine
its coarse wool clung to my body
like a kid clings to its mom
i wrapped the cloth around me
and knew that i was home.

i ran into grandma's bedroom
to show her my new find
only to see a weary look
and hear the catch in her worn voice
she said that the sweater was her father's
he wore it like a champ
his muscled limbs and
his pale skin
left it tight around his arms
and she looked at me once over
and then nodded her head
she said, that it fit me almost perfectly
and that it should be mine, instead.

so i walk these halls
in my bright red sweater
carrying my family history
and the smell of his cologne
to them it's just a fashion statement
but i know it's so much more
this sweater is the link
across generations,
across time,
to my long gone grandfather
who i never got to know.

the sweater is no longer
on the shelf of forgotten things
because my grandfather is gone
but this sweater proves
that he will never be forgotten.

Chester might need a sweater
A sweater a sweater
Chester needs a sweater
Because it is too cold
You see it is at the start of winter
So Chester needs a sweater
To keep himself warm
You see there are many floats
To spring out community
Time to say duddity
Chester needs a sweater
To keep
To keep
To keep himself warm
On Christmas he drinks eggnog
Just like a cold Freddo frog
Chester needs a sweater
Just to keep warm
Just
Just
Just to keep warm