green like an olive

a sweater is left
in the coat closet. it's green.
like an olive.
nothing in the pockets,
no label, or name,
no stitching
to tell me whose it
might be.
I take it out
from time to time
and lay it on the table.
i wonder whose arms
fit inside, who was warmed
by it's stitching,
it's thick wool
so neatly put together.
after a look
I hang it back in
the closet beside the other
coats
and jackets I rarely wear.
it's an old friend now.
this lone lost sweater,
green. green like an olive.