What color is my coat?
Green?
No. I do not like green.
But is it magic? Yes.
Wool? No.
Waterproof? Yes, when it needs to be.
Hurt-proof? Yes, when it can be.
(For without water or hurt, we do not grow.)
Warm? In winter or when I want it to be.
Buttons? Yes. Big FUN buttons.
What does it remind me of? My mom.
How does it make me feel? Authentic.
The best thing about it? It is my only coat! I don’t need twelve.
It has an endlessness to it. A timelessness. I wore it young and I wear it old. It is young Kathryn. Old Kathryn. All Kathryns: Daughter. Sister, Wife, Mom. Friend. ‘Nonna’ (grandmother).
My coat is like a second skin.
Aching to not sin.
Or break shins.
It is committed to begin
Living an open, shutterless life on the Island of Gunga Din.
Which is not real, but it could be. Why not?
My coat mon manteau, mon peau (my coat, my skin)
Wakes as me in the morning.
She has beautiful intentions. Her day is hers.
And then, one by one, her buttons fall off. Her pockets tear.
Wait. I was just there.
Where?
There. With dark hair. That was then. This is now.
My coat and my hair have lost their luster. Did the magic coat lose its magic? No. It lost its way. But that’s okay.
Because
It will be back.
Today.
The coats in the top image are from Pexels Free Images. Thank you!
