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76

Ballad of the Coat on the Door

Saoirse Doyle

Ballad · Family · Loss

His coat still hangs behind the doorthe way it hung in life,and nobody in this narrow housewill move it, said his wife.

For thirteen months it kept its shape,the shoulders and the sleeve,as though a man might come for itthe moment we believe.

I said to her, it's only wool,it's only cold and thread.She said, then you can carry itto Oxfam in my stead.

I stood before it half the day.I could not lift it down.Some griefs are heavier than the thing.I left it. I left town.

And still behind that narrow door,in a house I don't go near,a coat is keeping someone's shapeagainst another year.

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Up nexteverything, and then youi love the ordinary things.