Assorted Fruits

Sock Bits and All

Do you remember that sweater?

That one your grandmother made with left-over sock bits

and crocheted sheep on,

like you were six again.

She knew you wouldn't wear it,

but she wanted you too.

That sweater sat in your closet that whole summer,

and your cat clawed the right sleeve to ribbons.

Your mother was dismayed, and fixed it, sock bits and all,

 but you weren't bothered.

She tucked it away on the shelf, and you both forgot about it.

Summer came and went, and we had bonfires on the beach,

 legs tangled in the sand,

surrounded by sea and ruined sand castles.

Fall slid in and we all had better things to do,

grades replaced guitars, and we forgot the beach nights.

You failed Sociology that year,

but the irony was lost on us.

Winter came and we wished for summer,

for bonfires and burnt marshmallows

with a side of dirt from when we dropped them,

We bundled up,

and drank too much coffee

and deemed life good

in the privacy of the café booth.

Spring came and that May your grandmother died.

She was buried in a bed of roses,

pearls around her neck,

and you wore that sweater

sock bits and all.