I'm wearing a jumper you made
years before you made me.
I can picture the needles clacking
as you knitted my sinews and flesh,
watched me slowly gain shape
and cut the umbilical yarn,
relieved to be finished,
adoring the way I adorned your arms.
We've got a lot in common,
I realise, as I try this jumper on.
We were both made with love,
frustration and delight.
A couple of dropped stitches here
and loose threads there
but what handmade thing claims perfection?
We've both lived in a closet
and we're very soft and nice
for someone to wrap around
themselves on a cold night.
But as it turns out,
I was a complicated project,
a bit of a difficult fit.
If you could,
would you unravel me
and start again?
Camille Brouard (she/her) is a queer poet who grew up in Guernsey and has spent a decade living in Sheffield. She writes about queer identity, mental health, and the people and things she cares about. In 2021, she won the Channel Islands category of the Guernsey International Poetry Competition. Twitter: @camillebrouard Instagram: @cami_poetry