Sewn onto the Jumper

It’s sewn on to the jumper,

each stitch was made with care,

not primary school navy blue

but ancient soft cashmere.

A label for a name,

I hold it closely to my cheek

to feel it’s warmth and love

and wish that it could speak.

To tell me all its stories

of all that it has seen,

the life that it has witnessed

the places it has been.

But most of all the moments

the laughter and the tears

that it has been a part of

through the many years.

I place it in a wardrobe

that feels like a foreign country,

it should be filled with memories

but it’s clinical and ugly.

No ancient shirts and ties

or suits worn at the elbow.

No boxes stuffed with letters

or photographs gone yellow.

There’s nothing of his life

to say that he is here,

apart from one old jumper

made of soft cashmere.

So I take it off the shelf again

and place it on the bed

and hope it pours the memories

back into his head.