Amy Souza

Sweater Weather

Shoved in a crinkled blue bag in back of the

Closet. I had to dig them out and pants too.

Not everything fits—a lot can happen

In six months—and my boots don’t have the

Support my doctor now says I need. I wonder

If every change of season will be like

This as I age. Clothes I bought last winter

Look lousy on me now as if I inhabit

A new body: Strange hips extra belly

Flab in fresh places. I’m more of myself and

Also less. I found my favorite zip-up

Gray with green cuffs. It doesn’t flatter

Never has but hugs like warmth and tricks

Me into comfort. I put it on to walk the

Dog wrap a scarf around my neck and

Chance it with the archless rain boots. I miss

The sun like a friend who made a sudden

Departure and I remember S.

Being mad I didn’t visit before

Moving last year and how I wanted

Her to come to me—after all I

Was packing a house I didn’t want

To leave, in disarray and shambles,

But in her eyes I was like the Oregon

Sun that disappears in September

Without warning just when you are used

To it and taking it for granted.