I put your
sweater on
though it’s hot
as hell outside
and the street-flooding, thunder-busting
rain
did little
to relieve.
People like me,
medicated with blood
thinners,
run contrary to the
thermostat,
especially when the
AC is belting away,
fogging windows.
Pulling your
sweater off the hanger
made me smile, not
sad,
because it always
amused you
that I wore it more
often than you.
We bought it
together.
I remembered a shop
in London.
But I see from the
label
that it was from
right here in Houston,
100% camel hair,
camel color.
Comes to my knees, big like you,
There's a tissue in
the pocket,
probably mine, a
button missing,
a moth hole in the
sleeve.
I’ll put it back
in the closet
with the rest of
your things ,
after I turn the
AC off.
Author
Bio:
Katie O'Sullivan "is late writer of poetry, essays, short stories
and memoirs and one 10 minute play produced in Houston where I have lived
since my husband's retirement. I received an AA degree from UCLA
before our marriage and after our 7th child was born I continued my
education in Modern Near East History at the American University of
Beirut, graduated and continued on a Master Degree program before we were
transferred to the Netherlands. Living for 15 years in Lebanon was a beautiful and
exciting experience and I spent much of those years as a volunteer at the
American University Hospital. Between my family, studies and volunteerism,
I didn't have time to write until we came to Houston." You may
contact her at K O'S email.