[mousepoet]: 243.If I were a sweater

If I were a sweater
an old one,
the gift of a well-meaning
and ancient
aunt,
I would be a bit lonely,
forgotten at the back
of your cavernous closet,
which swallows up remnants
of your past.
I don’t suppose life
would give me much pleasure.
I don’t suppose that I
would give you much warmth.
Newer, more fashionable garments
would replace my moth-eaten yarn,
and my only appearance
would be at awkward family reunions,
proof that, in some way,
you remembered who you were
in your youth.

For at least one night of the year
I would be worn like a flag
that they think means nostalgia.
But, between the two of us,
we know it is the SOS of worn cloth
and flesh.