The Weave


The aged veteran sits idly
Upon rocker and barren porch

Holding his gaze on his sweater
Remembering

Unlike a space suit
Its every fiber fit
By rigid standard

Unlike the starched khaki shirt
Its extremities forged firm as armor
Its pleats kept at attention

Unlike the dress blues
Symbolic of authority and command
Unyielding in its façade of glory

A military sweater
Like love
Molds to behavior
Forever willing to comfort the flesh
And bring warmth to the heart

As passion's woven threads
Assimilate the wearer's hardships
Even as fear of frayed ends disappear
Accepting entwined living
Is not without further accident and wear

Still…

Affection asks little in return
Needing only to be spared
The folding into a drawer of forgotten memories

Given care
The patience of love

Even in war
Remains forever dedicated
Enfolding any and all it touches

And…

Like the tattered loyal sweater
Judges not the body
But dutifully complies
Abiding the ever-shrinking collapse
Of a life fully lived

The veteran rocks slowly to sleep
His woven remembrance held close

The question apparent

Has the wearing history of his sweater

Embraced the soldier

Or has it been the lonely soldier embracing the sweater.

He smiles in his sleep

Letting the weave’s warmth caress his hands

As he recalls his mother’s words

“Deserving to be loved requires we not forget

One must also give forth love”