~ Published Work ~

A picture of her wearing it hangs on my fridge. It is simply ugly, colored like dried mud splattered on the side of the truck that transported us down a back road in Mexico to go zip lining through the jungle. It scratches my skin and fuzzy yarn dimples cover it like sprinkles on a cupcake, sticking out announcing that this sweater is too old to be worn in public. It covers my arms but provides no real warmth as it is made from 100% acrylic. The two inch hole exposing my right elbow is not what I would call stylish. It needs to go to Goodwill, the sooner the better. But it will hang at the end of my desk, pink flowery transparent buttons visible, as long as I work. It was hung up in my office in February 1998 when I returned after her funeral. And with each office move over 20 years, it has been rehung.  I wear it when I feel a breeze or when I miss her. Mom’s ugly sweater that is tattered and torn, scratches my arms and allows air to tickle my elbow, is simply beautiful. 

Published January 2017. InflightLitMagazine / Issue #10.