Poetry
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It’s just an old sweater

It’s just an old sweater of yours
That I found
In memories of our common past.

Little did I know you would appear in a plastic box at the back of the closet.

I thought I’d return it to you
Wrapped in a cut paper grocery bag
Write your name and the last address I have for you
Take it to the post office, take a number,
Ask for nothing special
See it thrown in a bin full of other packages

Should I include a letter?
What would it say?

I saw you receiving an unwanted package and a letter maybe,
Throwing this sweater in a bin for Goodwill
With all things from me, the past, this town.

Your scent having long left the soft wool,
Chased away by mothballs,
I washed it in cold water and delicately
Dried it flat and for a few days
It lay near the back door
The object of my curiosity, softer to the touch of my passing hand
Until each of the threads caressed my arms and my nose:
We were about the same size, remember?

A thrift shop find, I’ll say, on its way to becoming vintage
And being revived to witness more seasonal changes
To re-visit long forgotten senses and impressions
Never captured in photos or scrapbooks.
It’s just an old sweater.

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