Is as old as me, or older
It used to originally be - off-white, egg-shell-white
As decades past, it's full blown beige now
It's got tiny embroidered peach roses
And a couple buttons missing
It's not a fashion item
My beige sweater
Is a shelter
In shivering sunless winter mornings
A refuge, from cold hopeless nights
It's something I clutch on to
I don't remember how I got it though
Though I distinctly remember never buying it
It perhaps just showed up
In my dress rack
A hand-me-down, from an older cousin
Or aunt
And every winter, without fail
It's stood by me, fit me smugly
Warmed my blood
Calmed my skin
Weathered me, in my perennial morass
Through my joyless existence, marred with fears and doubts
Wearing this,
I have rushed through countless December mornings
Packing lunches, folding clothes, doing dishes, watering my plants, chomping my omelettes, watching TV, reading the paper, waiting, thinking, not-thinking, giving up, letting go, crying, weeping, wailing, bursting out, napping, running errands, hoping, praying, hoping some more.
So many many mornings
So many damn years
Of achieving nothing in particular
Nothing of note
Feeling that life's slipping though my fingers like sand
But my beige sweater has remained
With me
And I cherish it so.