A Collection of Short Stories and Poems

Jackets

You left your jacket
Draped upon my bedside.

You know,
I've been told that
It is not wise to leave
Such things at home
While you're away.
Oregon is notorious for
Its dynamic weather.

What will you do
When you realise
You left your jacket in my room?

Ah.
Perhaps you can also smell
The stench of
Disparity drenched in your coat
Like the sporadic Oregon rain.

Ah.
Perhaps that's why
It's dead upon
My bedside.

You know,
I've been told that
People run away from
Things like this,
But I didn't think I'd
Be part of those percentages
Of children
That lost one of their parents.

Your jacket wraps its arms
Around me.
Perhaps this will
Deceive me like you.
Perhaps it will make me
Believe you never left.
Maybe I can fool myself into thinking
You hugged me before you
Ran off.

You always did say
I'd grow up to be a
Beautiful fool,
Didn't you?

And maybe when you come back --
If you come back --
You will wear it
And smell the desperate
Tears I cried into it.
Or maybe you'll
Believe me when I say it's
Just the Oregon weather again.

And maybe you'll
Come back and tell me
You went out to look for your lost jacket,
The one soaking into
My quilts.
Maybe you'll stay again.
I'll probably believe you
If you believe I haven't
Wept when I saw
My broken mirror
Of a father --
That you believe me when I say
I didn't have to hold my father as he
Sobbed into my hair again.
The hair that looks like yours
When you were my age.

I guess all I'm trying to say is
Please come back for your jacket;
You know how Oregon weather is.

Ah, yes, more unadulterated bitterness towards my mother for not even saying goodbye to me today since I can't sleep.
A note, at least, would have been something.
But thank you, Mother, for this jacket.