A Goldfinch in Summer
The image of a yellow cardigan comes to mind
as she sits down to begin a poem, that sweater she had in college,
the color of a goldfinch in summer, the one she wore the day
she met the man who would share her life.
She retrieves the box of artifacts from the attic, digs out the sweater,
entombed now for half a century,
wrapped in a shroud of tissue paper.
It has started to unravel, its pearl buttons cracked.
Moths have left their signatures.
She threads her arms through its once supple sleeves,
clenches its front around hers in a kind of embrace.
She vows to tend her old carapace with care,
like a failing friend or an old dog,
though she fears it won't hold off the chill.
The withered pelt anchors her in time.
Like a stamped passport,
it is proof she was there.
