Tuesday, December 29, 2009


It was cold, it was early, I was in a rush. It was hours before I noticed, but when I did, I was full of grief and regret.

Dear glove, I found you in a desperate time. The stores were optimistically stocking bikinis while a blizzard waged outside. There were no gloves to be found anywhere. “Sorry, it’s the Spring collection,” they said without a hint of apology.

I had been looking for days for a pair before I found you. You were the last of your kind. Marked down. Final Sale. I couldn’t believe my luck. Though you had no lining, you had flair and you stuck by me for the rest of that season and a full season more.

We were going on two years – ten in glove years – and I shouldn’t have taken you for granted.

Yesterday I got up at five am. I had some coffee and bite to eat before heading out for my shift at the co-op. When I got there I locked up the bike, took off helmet and gloves, turned off the blinker, and headed inside to sign in.

When I came back out hours later you were gone. Inside my bag your partner was still resting next to the keys, alone. Oh, glove, where art thou?

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