My Grandmother’s Sweater

I’ve lost my sweaters
They held me close as I wept
Buried my face in their depths
When my grandmother passed
They held her too
Shielded her from the bitterness that winter can bring
Wrapped her in their fabrics and heated her
Warmed her creativity
Arms swaddled, her hand moved, penned words,
Poems, prose
I wrote in you too,
Took comfort from you
I’ll miss you
But will always have the echo of you in my mind
Warm fabrics, weathered wool
You held me, you held mine
Now, I’ll let you go

Breathe

“Breathe.” She said,
And I remembered what it felt like to be alive.

“Breathe.” She said,
And I remembered breath is needed to sustain life,
So long I had been dwelling in the emptiness
Which hangs between life and death
Not wanting to live, but not ready to die
Devoid of wanting, empty of passion
The nothing space, visited only
By sadness and fear

“Breathe.” She said,
And I filled my lungs with air,
Felt my soul rush back into this body

“Breathe.”

I Wish

I wish my heart wasn’t surrounded by walls
I wish my soul had just a few less scars
I wish my body didn’t clench when someone
Took me into their arms
I wish I’d believed them when they’d said
I could reach for the stars
Perhaps I would have, were it not for that pause;

I wish the hand I was dealt had slightly different odds.