The Purple Hoodie–died on September 17, 2011,

along with the frayed ends of its strings.

It will never again warm another body

on a brisk autumn evening.

The smell of burnt wood on the fabric,

cozy and safe, will slowly turn to ash.

The sputtering of a car engine will always

remind me of you just like the feeling

of a cold breeze against my cheek.

I wonder if you were just as torn

as the ends of the hoodie strings?

Was it excruciating, or was it like

slowly walking into a dream?

Was it like a weight being lifted off,

or was it like decaying walls crumbling?

The color that once looked like lavender

in the middle of summer, now only looks

like the beginning of a tender bruise.

Whenever I hear the crisp crunch of a fallen leaf

under my foot, or see the puff of gray

that escapes my lips on a chilly day,

I’ll think of the pastel tone of that baggy home

and what I would give to see my little sister beaming again.