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