If you follow my blog Sometimes You Get So Confused, in which I dish out advice, chronicle odd or interesting things in my everyday life, or display cryptic little pieces of art for you to puzzle over, you might remember the post I did describing a walk around my neighborhood a few weeks ago. In it, I found this sad mitten in the high school parking lot.
I brought it home and I washed it. Turns out it was just the remains of a mitten – life has been awfully rough on it. Originally it had been a double-surfaced little handwarmer, with the deer pattern in opposing color patterns on two different layers.
This mitten touched my feelings for some reason – kind of dumb, when it’s just a scrap of wool. But sometimes you feel you have to make a little change in this world – bigger things are not always within your ability to do anything about, so you push on the scales to rebalance things in this manner instead. Something like what I described here. Made me feel better, anyway, in a strange kind of way.
So, here is the poem.
No one retraced steps in search of
one blue and white mitten
with a reindeer pattern
on the back of the hand. No one.
No one imagined the mitten
caught under the snowbank
where it lay in a silence that grew more dense
with each new snowfall. No one.
No one noticed the mitten
crammed up against the curb
matted and torn
half-buried in a pile of last year’s pine needles
stranded by the snow melt runoff
Until I did.
I took it home
Washed it dried it.
Put it in the drawer
with the winter socks
to keep it company.