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It was that red and black flannel
Coat he wore No fashion statement - just warmth. It was the uniform of every daily chore Garden variety wool A nylon liner No more. It was that old coat A little worn but never rent Grimy ‘round the collar. It was his old coat Carrying his particular scent. It was as if he still wore it Even after he went. © Matty Adams, 2022 This piece first appeared at writersforrecovery.org (Nov. 4, 2022).
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AuthorMatty Adams (born Matt Stinchfield), 9th generation English colonist living on ancestral lands of Abenaki peoples. A person who writes prose and poetry, non-fiction (even if you don't believe it is true). Let us not define beings by the things they do, but by the love they bring. Please do not confuse my work as a definition of me. Archives
December 2024
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