84/365 - Armor-clad

 

I retract my hands

into my sleeves

and step out the front door

summer in Sacramento

over 100 degrees

but I didn't notice

anymore

With my hood pulled up

and my eyes cast down

I didn't notice if I

was too warm

But there wasn't a

sweater that could

keep me from feeling

so forlorn

Now so many years later

but how can it be

that I was her

and she was me

I've come so far

and moved away

to a place of perpetual

sweater weather

As middle-age teases

and youth slips away

I now forever

crave the heat