People Who Give You Things
People who give you things they meant to keep
but can't, because it's time to let them go--
what do you tell them? "I prefer my sleep
not stitched with your regrets"? Or, "Sorry, no,
my closet's bursting: there's no room inside
for faded wishes, for the tight despair
you've tried to squeeze me into like a hide,
and I with so much of my own to wear!"
But how can you refuse them, when they come
night after night with armfuls of the stuff
they made the wardrobe of your childhood from,
left over from their own--and still enough
to dress the present--and the future, too,
stuck with boxes to pick through after you.
A perfect poem? The sewing metaphor is subtle
and unobtrusively woven into the texture as a
controlling figure for the touching theme (“stitched”;
“tight”). Flawless technique features a great volta line that introduces a startling idea. The sly pun on “present” in line 13 impressed me, as did the syntactical complexity.
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