Ode to an Old Grey Sweatshirt

I.
Dear you,
  Do you remember winters in Tallahassee-
more Georgia than Florida-I slid into you perfectly?
You were there as I became someone I was barely aware I was becoming.
II.
Dear you,
   I think sometimes now, I search for you
in the sleeves and pockets of others.
Test their weight on my shoulders to see if it feels the same--
it hasn't yet.
III.
Dear you,
   It's funny, I can see a blurry panorama of our years together;
never solid on the memory of when we first met, but
I can tell you distinctly how we parted:
A crisp November night, I was jetlagged and bedraggled, clutching
Logan struggling against my lap.
I felt his last breath through your threadbare length
and knew that moment was imprinted in you
knew, I'd never be comforted by you again.
The next afternoon we covered his body with you, a shroud
buried you both and hoped
you gave him half the comfort you always gave me.

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