I am zipped up in Daddy’s green sweater.
Mom knitted, purled, cabled together
some semblance of love.
He wore it with joy almost every day,
telling all admirers how it was made with love.
It’s wrapped around me,
but it’s not his firm arms,
not his smell (which wasn’t peppermint
or aftershave, but just him),
not his whisper in my ears,
Love you so much.
How can another year have past
without him? How can a sweater
be both so full
and so bereft of him?
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Shawn L. Bird
Shawn Bird is an author, poet, and educator in the beautiful Shuswap region of British Columbia, Canada. She is a proud member of Rotary.
Absolutely tearful. Reflection at Christmas is so spiritually necessary for us. Sometimes I think of it as more reunion than reflection because I feel my mother’s presence each year while decorating the tree over the last 43 since her passing. Though she comes in what looks like memories, I’m certain it is actually her and not just some thought or abject, rogue memory. Fussing over her special, very fragile blue glass icicle ornaments, watching her pick just the right spot on the tree for them, after having unwrapping each form yards and yards of tissue paper, which she had so carefully wrapped them within during the past Christmas for another year’s storage in the attic. That’s how my mother and I share each Christmas. And it’s also how she shared Christmas with her mother, Because those icicle ornaments were a special gift from her brother and mother. The chain goes on and on. Here’s to hoping it will never break Shawn. Merry Christmas…….
such a beautiful reflection. Thanks for sharing.