the black leather coat

he takes
the coat gladly
from my hand.
feels its weight.
it's yours, I tell him.
I haven't worn
it in years.
the last time I was
in a winter storm,
snow up
to my knees.
I remember leaving
home,
looking back at the yellow
square of light
from the kitchen window,
the door already closed
behind me.
it saved my life
that coat, I tell him.
being untruthful
but
dramatic, to give
the coat
more life.
it's black. it's leather.
it's
been in the closet
for so many years
that I've lost track.
he puts it on,
buttons it.
zips it.
puts his hands in the
pockets,
then turns up the collar.
I like it
he says.
it's yours, I tell him.
wear it well.