I picked at a snag in the lemon
yellow yarn of my favorite wool sweater
until my fingers were lost in a hole,
clutched it to my breast
like an injured best friend,
walked to the corner where a signpost read
While the woman with magical fingers
mended my sweater,
I thumbed through an outdated Cosmopolitan,
paused when I saw a sign across the street—
Divorce – Men Only
realized we had begun to unravel.
I had picked at your idiosyncrasies
like the snag in my sweater.
You distanced yourself to avoid the picking.
Then I remembered your tears
reflecting shared pain
as you placed frozen peas on my body,
bruised and swollen from a surgeon’s knife;
how you trusted me
to take the helm in squally seas
as we cruised the California coast;
how sexy your legs look in shorts.
The alterations lady nudges me,
hands me my sweater that looks as good as new.
Wearing a new attitude,
I skip home singing
I feel pretty, oh, so pretty …
find you waiting in your La-Z-Boy recliner.
Lifting your whiskered face in my palms
I kiss your little boy smile,
work my own magic
to mend the strands of our unraveling.
© Susan Parker
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author’s written permission.