My face settles against the soft wool,
its luxury, fineness, clinging to my cheek,
so far away Kashmir, Mongolia, Afghanistan,
comes home. I am at a party, dancing,
barely hearing the music, so in tune
to the sweater. My partner’s tall, clean-shaven.
My head comes under his chin. The animal
in us wants each other to keep out the cold.
I breathe in his aftershave, a balm
for both of us. I’m off to a foreign land
where the goats’ hair is combed by hand
through a double layer: one coarse
for paint brushes, textiles and other
commercial products; the other smooth as silk
for cashmere sweaters, shawls, weavings.
I am still dancing. Ali Hamadani
combs the fleece, makes socks in the14th century,
presents them to the king of Kashmir,
who likes them. Ali brings raw goat wool,
suggests the king start shawl weaving.
I want the cashmere to enfold me,
cuddle me. Why do I want to be swaddled
in this costly fabric? Where will it take me?
I’m on a journey, past the ads
in newspapers, magazines, far into
another world. My husband carries
me off thousands of years in cashmere.
Paula Goldman’s book, The Great Canopy, won the Gival Press Poetry award, and was honorable mention for the Independent Booksellers’ Award. Her work has appeared in theravensperch, Slant, and many other journals. She holds an MA degree in Journalism from Marquette University and an MFA in Writing from Vermont College.
