don’t we all have a wardrobe of seams?
the well-worn or split and torn
patched over and over the few
friendships we never stop mending
while those colorless patterns
some too tight or not quite right
relationships worn once or twice
flawed sewing that didn’t hold
all destined for the thrift store
except that tattered overcoat
I found you a long time ago
I see you still wear it
tight around your throat
when the weather turns