—I DON’T CARE IF MONDAY’S BLUE

 

My Favorite Sweater

 

You are my 

favorite sweater, 

frayed and musky, 

collar sagging 

like a broken jaw, 

lazy threads dangling, 

cat or dog hair pinched 

between the fabric, 

sleeves stretched out, 

cotton faded from years 

spent sun-bleached and 

laying on a mattress, 

praying to be worn again 

and never taken off, 

the first and last 

garment I reach for 

in every dream I’ve ever had, 

the ones where we 

wear nothing at all 

but the skins of gratitude.