where it stayed for decades after
I’d moved out of my parents’ house,
just hanging there mostly undisturbed
by them or by me.
The winter jacket I speak of
was made of wool, and it survived
decades of moisture drifting up
from the cellar. I should have taken it,
I should have dealt with it.
You may remember these coats
from the late 50s.
They were of a simple design,
their most outstanding feature the buttons
and the button holes that weren’t there.
Instead there were hemp loops
and oblong plastic or bone attachments.
These fit into them, providing
a base sort of closure
that eventually would let in a lot of winter cold
when the loops and attachments grew worn
and began to scratch.
They weren’t fashionable for long
and I guess I too began to wear
something tighter and warmer
but I kept this coat still and wore it on days
when the winds blew less strongly.
I recall placing it on the hook
going down to the cellar
toward the end of my senior year of high school
and only taking it out occasionally after that.
No one was wearing those coats anymore
but I found comfort in putting it on occasionally
because putting those attachments through those hooks
reminded me of the last two years of high school
when I still had some sense of direction.
(I wanted to be a journalist)
but I lost that sense and never regained it.
Putting that jacket on
and pushing those attachments through those hooks
made me feel that I would reconnect eventually.
So I kept it past its natural expiration date,
and I would have it still, I think,
but somewhere, sometime over the decades
it vanished.
It was a perceived but not a very real loss.
In any case,
a sense of direction is not so easily reacquired.
