Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Old Coats: Explorations in the Cedar Closet - 1. Old Coats
I packed it
for Carolina downpours,
to warm chilly California evenings,
and for midsummer strolls down Stockholm’s twilit streets;
it always returned a bit more frayed,
to rest before its next
adventure.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
In the woods
its wool plaid keeps me warm,
yet camouflages me in the fall
against the maple saplings and deer-browsed hemlocks,
and in its pockets are coins, pencils
matches and evidence
of my dad.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The clouds break
and the bright haloed moon
reflects off my maroon windbreaker,
its white trim flashing like the tails of startled deer
which emerge like ghosts from the thicket
to feed in the fields and
disappear.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
I can’t count
how many funerals
that hand-me-down raincoat has witnessed,
but untold tears have streaked and dyed it grey with grief
and filled tattered pockets with tissues
more eloquent than mere
epitaphs.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Old leather,
creased, yet warm and supple,
heard ten thousand engines grind and cough,
listened to them wake and learn to sing in chorus,
pledging to break free of this green earth
and soar unfettered skies
until death.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The hood leaks
where it meets the collar
and long use cracked the rubberized shell
Guaranteed to keep out the worst possible rainstorm;
no playing field mud mars its deep green,
but it knew how to play
in its day.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
I received
a new rainproof jacket
amongst the presents under the tree
as a replacement for my spattered and torn coat
which, though shabby, still remains alive
with bright orange autumn
memories.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
He lingers
inside my red parka
trapped in its folds by an embrace
sincere and heartfelt even though we had to rush;
I let it hang all spring and summer,
but December still smelled
of kisses.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Bought third hand
at the AmVets thrift store,
tailored in heavyweight Harris Tweed,
it reigns resplendent over the winter wardrobe
with cut and color and perfect fit
unmatched by mail-order
impostors.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
He gave me
that long waxed cotton coat
because he could not take it with him
into his new place and employment adventure;
he loved its feel and warmth in winter,
but it was too much
to carry.
Thank you for reading these. Any comment, thought or passing remark you may want to leave will be of value.
- 17
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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