The day we broke up, I returned your jacket. I emptied the pockets and held it out. You hesitated, then took it from me carefully, so our fingers wouldn’t touch.
I thought of the times you warmed me.
You rubbed my shoulders as we stood in line outside the movie theater. You gave me your sweatshirt at that tailgate party when the wind picked up. You wrapped a blanket around us at the beach, an impromptu tent that kept our heat in when dusk cooled the sand.
We were not good for each other. But you were excellent at that.
Cynthia Hamill 