MY  TATTERED  SWEATER

-J S Simick, 22 April 2016

A playful kitten used to roll

with the ball of wool

when Mom knit my cardigan.

My boyish ego wanted “double knit”, or “readymade” jerseys,

so I sulked when I had to stand in front of her

as she measured my shoulder and arms.

Even now every winter my Mom’s handiwork

wraps me in warm, soft comfort.

The colour-matching patchups

have somewhat hidden the holes at the elbows.

I smile to see the patterns she had put to cheer me up.

So like my Mom !

She’s  gone some fifteen years now,

but in the tattered sweater

I still smell Mom.

Another  winter gone, I fold the sweater neatly.

How  could I throw my Mom away ?

My eyes turn misty.

Sentimental ?

I shrug.

Well  

that’s the way it is with me …

///