An oversized wide knit cotton sweater
hangs by the door of her old cabin
snuggly tucked in the Kentucky woods.

The sweater, laguna blue, faded with
thread pulls, some bottom fringe frayed
where stiches eroded,

comforted her since teaching art
in Chicago, where its large pockets 
held markers, paint brushes and dreams.

It accompanied her on many journeys,
well into her silver years. She lost track
of its exact age or when she first stretched

her arms into its sleeves. Each time one of
her children suggest she trash the blue sweater
and offer to buy her a new one, she resists.

It is her peace when she drapes it around her
shoulders to make a quick run outside to fill
bird feeders or water flowers.

It is her warmth when she wears it all
buttoned up to go out into the chill and
scoop up kindling and cedar logs for the stove.

It is her memory of younger days
when she ties it around her waist to 
walk to the meadow and set up her easel.

It is her solace as she rolls it
into a pillow to rest her head while
dreaming of a lost lover.

She sits on the porch on a cool spring night,
the blue blankets her lap.  She rocks
to the song of the whippoorwill.