2 sweaters from giovanni's room in the basement of the old apartment 

the snow came in fists
when we visited the city that day. 
you both and me & our black english major boots. 
frost pounded on the doors of 
our faces. crawling in your toyota 
down the highway.
then, drinking tea & standing
in a panera trying to warm up. 
all we wanted
was grandfathers
or in another words
gay books. window glow.
the watering hole turned 
waterfall. i told you 
we have 
a history. now it is summer 
& the sweaters i bought stand
like dormant ghosts. the book store
had a thrift room 
& that's where i found them.
two dad sweaters 
that i layered on before
walking back out 
into the pennsylvania winter. 
one brown with patches
sewn on the elbows.
another an off-white turtle-neck. 
i wonder if they both belonged
to the same spirit.
if, maybe, he too carried them
like animals 
down into a basement
when march started to blush.
sometimes when i wear them
i smell a life i had before.
my queerness, my deepest lineage.
leading me back 
into the space in the sky
where water
becomes snow. decides 
to return to earth,
knuckles ready.