Dad brings sweatshirts back

from his business trips –

souvenirs of places I’ve never been.

When I move away for school,

I wear them like hugs,

his fabric arms embracing me

across 1000 miles. I call him

the way my pastor tells me

I should pray: on my walk to class,

while I’m cooking, when I’m

homesick or overworked. I tell him

everything – talk about boys

and nights out, talk about my fear

of being unworthy in comparison to

my classmates, my stress over balancing

work, classes, and bills. He soothes

my tears from six states away.

I pull my arms through gray sleeves,

wrap them around my ribs,

and imagine they are his.