the scarf

it begins

as a sweater-

borrowed. scratchy. wool.

unbecoming.

it gets caught up, tangled

on all the other pieces of your life

old patterns are torn, ripped-ragged

defeated. 

it becomes

wet. weighted.

a cloak, dripping in cement

breathless.

it dries out and shrinks

too small-

soft belly, left dimpled & hanging-

exposed.

it moves, the sweater, to your waist

a knot of certainty

tied loosely at your hips-

resignation.

you learn to leave it

folded neatly in the top dresser draw

but later you find it at the bottom of your hamper-

guilt.

when you are sure enough time has past

you bend, kneel. pull the sweater to your face,

drink in its musty smells-

respite.

life continues.

like this-

for some time.

back & forth

round & round

at last, the darkest of the days will come:

you are unable to remember when you met it last.

the sweater, has vanished-

shame. sorrow.

only then will the scarf arrive-

worn & faded and seemingly out of nowhere

a piece of you will know-

will delight in its softened wool,

in the sureness of its structure.

and even as it changes-

size, shape, direction

as it comes.

as it goes.

you stay.

wrapped in it;

forever.