The Jacket

It hangs there quietly in its faded glory

unobtrusive, swaying ever so gently

each time the closet door is opened;

its owner oblivious to any planned use.

The dust on its collar floats like small

gray beads of adornment, and the hanger

has found a permanent home in the sleeves.

It is old in its newness, but yet it remains

Days and weeks and even months have passed

and new ones have joined the ranks, while others

have met with fates unknown, perhaps they

were loved more but cherished less.

It has moved several times over the years,

the tiny space always its home. There is

an occasional touch of acknowledgement

that perhaps one day its time will come.

©2010Marsha Dean Walker

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