A girl in a crimson sweater crossed
my path on my way to the beach.
I offer this girl’s sweater to you.
When I look back at my day only
the sweater remains.

Keep it for a cool night when a breeze
whispers against your arms or
as a crimson cap the wind cannot
subtract from your head.

Today the drunk man who stands
in front of Dante’s liquor store
is gone. So are the roses in the window
of Gustavo’s Garden Emporium.

It is a shawl of color I give
you to wear on your shoulders.
It can also be a scarf
for your bed or draped over
the arm of your white chair.

Keep it, rub it against your
face as if you had lost
something more important
than roses or a drunk man in
front of a liquor store.

Tuck it under your pillow
and sleep next to its blaze,
rest next to it. You will feel
protected, safe.

Today, it’s all I have to give you
from my drive to the ocean. It’s what
I need to do to go on living. Tomorrow
when the shells from the shore
blankets our towns remember
the crimson sweater.

About the Poem

This poem is about immigration and the way immigrants have to run for their lives and leave only memories of some objects behind.

About the Author

June Gould, Ph.D., is a poet, novelist, and the non-fiction author of, The Writer in All of Us, E.P. Dutton. She has led International Women’s Writing Guild poetry and memoir workshops and Workshop Retreats for over thirty years. Her recent poetry is in; Serenade, Gallery&Studio Arts Journal, the Journal for Psychohistory, Adanna, Issue 11, and HEAL, a journal for medical students and de Curated.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *