It wasn’t until after you’d left
me with voices in my head,
that I found your sweater;
mutton-coloured, merino wool
folded neater than I could ever be.
I pulled it on in my haphazard,
this is why you’re not a mother way.
You would have gently sneered
as the itchy wool shuddered
over my shoulders,
juddered down my front.
It was your size yet too tight,
a collar of beaded cotton teeth
caressing my jugular
threatening consumption of anything
which made me whole.
I wore it anyway.
In solidarity with the love
I once messily kindled,
with the friendship I once tended;
as you softly brandished secateurs,
pruning to perfection
your unruly rose.
Even though it itched,
picked, at my imperfections
with a snarling grin,
I wore it for a day.
Like you, I sneered;
white claws drawing blood
from my lips.
Like you, I wore expectations
taught by an…
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I read this over at Go-Dog-Go Café. I just had to tell you that this was a wonderful read and I really appreciate your prose.
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Thank you very much! ☺️
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