You left your sweater on my bedroom floor.
I swept around it.
It lay alone and I raised
My eyes so as not to see it. Unfazed
By the woolen mass expanding a little more
Each day, I neither touched it nor
Wondered how long you would leave it there.
I skirted around it, increasingly aware
Of the shrinking space
I’d had before.
Last night I stood on the edge of my bed
And on my tip-toes still could not see
. I cannot wait with rising dread
For you to take your sweater back from me.
I cannot wait for you at all; instead
I threw it out this morning. My bedroom floor is free.