cardigans

by amy sharp


and just like that
fall took us in her arms
and kissed us
she hissed at summer
and put her hands in the sky
like someone praising God
and we all ran toward the wardrobes
the boxes
under the beds
pulling out wool
knits
the clothes that still
have stories in the weave
bonfire smoke remnants
forgotten dollars tucked in pockets
your hands all over me
how to look at the harvest moon