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

The door. 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.