an overcoat

nearly black, the colour of a wet rook. weighs almost as much as the person who hung it here. the wool was carded twice, the lining twice replaced, and the inner pocket was always for one item only: a folded letter that did not need re-reading.

the last time it was worn was a long walk in cold. the wearer came back without it; the coat came back without him. afterward it took three days to dry, and someone hung it where it now hangs, with the snow still in the cuffs.

it is kept in the upper cupboard at the end of the hall, the door that does not quite close. moths have learned not to bother. the shoulders have memorised a shape no one comes to fill.

field-note: a tram-ticket in the right pocket, dated for a journey not completed.