Old Sweater

I wear you like an old sweater--
arms around me, warmth and comfort,
the worn places I overlook,
the tears I hold together.
Threads broken at the seams, we hang on,
still able to keep the cold
from seeping through.
The color has faded, but
I expect nothing more
than the familiar feel, the smell of you.
You need not be more than that;
I can't expect you to be more.
You have always been there
as you are, as you always will be--
nothing more, but that's enough for me.

Teri Lyn Smith
Oakley, CA