Ode to my sweaters.

You are of so many colors,

though occasionally you tumble

from your shelf and incite slightly

rude remarks but I thank you

anyway, my sweaters,

for how you are so warm in your variegated

ways: the way of the cardigan,

the way of the v-neck

and the way, even,

of the plain pullover:

for the argyle is geometric,

and the cableknit is like the code

of life, twisty and mind-bending,

if you are the type

whose mind is apt to be bent

by sweaters,

and lo, when the weather is cold

and sometimes even

when it is not, I am that very type:

you, mind-bending pink sweater,

inexplicably meant for men,

which is why

I bought you marked down

to $9.99 at Target: it is almost the day

when I will find you again,

and think, you, pink sweater,

today is just the day

for a pink sweater: etcetera

etcetera &c,

for each sweater there is

just the day: it is my happy genius

to find that day in its full

exactitude,

representing in a statement of knit.