Ode to a Sweater
In a cloud of blue tissue
the cardigan lay folded, asleep,
awaiting Christmas morning.
The beads around the neckline,
in artful pattern,
were like the lyrics of "The Snowy Breasted Pearl",
like a child's first teeth
beneath a pillow of wishes come true,
like a little girl's first necklace.
The sweater was the lightest embrace,
an arm around a shoulder,
pure enough for an angel,
yet a garment that the slinkiest star of the '40s
could well have worn with dark hair,
a satin gown and a red smile.
It could keep a woman warm
as she looked out the window at snow
remembering starry blue evenings
when he asked her to come for a walk,
and the music twinkling from open windows
receded into background.
On the back of a chair,
this sweater exhales
the finest whiff of perspiration:
lingering fragrance of things past
as life goes on.
©2007 by Ruth Latta