SEVENTEEN (after Oliver Comins)

This is my Mother's cardigan
With which I embrace another crisp evening
Where a hop from bedsit to corner shop
Fills a stopgap of confectionery and Rizlas.

Inside its arms there's more of her
The soft aroma stretching where
A vision of home sits for
All those years snug on a sofa.

Green and warm
The wool doesn't really keep me from the weather
But it's better than nothing
Something of her that shines brighter than the cold

Until back in the room
I shrug her from my shoulder
And reach to receive the kick from another's embrace as
My mother folds her arms.

©Kim West 2015