That Old Sweater, with thanks to Rudyard Kipling

I have no favorite spots,
No favorite restaurants.
Like the cat who walks by himself,
All places are alike to me.

But there’s one sweater I like the best,
It’s the one I usually end up wearing,
The old wool one with the colored stripes
And the hole somewhere—
I never remember quite where.
I don’t care.
We remain close, hole and all.

Other nice things hang
Like the dreams I felt when I picked them out,
Imagining moments to come,
Moments with which they would go so nicely,
Moments softer, warmer, so full.

There’s a closet where I keep my dreams.
Every now and then I enter there,
See things that hang there,
Unworn,
Yet so tired, so stale.

I take them out.
And just before I toss them to the winds,
Those eternal winds of time, of change,
I have a quick look back—
And I wait for the clouds to clear.


“If you wanted a universe, I’d go to the hardware store and buy everything I need to make you one.”

About Russ Wollman

My feet are finally in the water, and I want to keep them there.
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