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Neville

My Fathers Jacket

My Fathers Jacket

 

Here you are again she said

Retrieved from the pile

Reserved for charity shop donations

 

For that is where she found me

Wearing my father’s old baggy jacket

Is that so strange tho I ask

 

Even now the taste and the very

Scent of him is dear to me

This is where his essence lingers yet

 

This is where I feel and hear him sometimes

As my body warms the fibres

Safe in these old Tweed threads of his

 

Here in these so very hugged

And well worn sleeves I ache hungrily

Then cry as a child might cry

 

Unashamedly and with so many

 Unpunctuated sobs

Then as both hands are well and truly lost

 

In deep side pockets

A long forgotten handkerchief

Surfaces to light and usefulness again

 

Wiping tears with fingertips I find myself

Wondering how many wishes were once

Held fast in that single knot

 

Tied by his own hand near the corner

Next to the blue silk of his monogram

Where I still sense him near