Borrowed Warmth

The cold came down like a hammer this week

so I dug through the closet for something to wear.

I found the wool overcoat Miller left behind

when he bailed on the lease and the electric bill.

It’s too wide in the shoulders, a boxy gray ghost

that smells like cloves and a city I’ve never seen.

In the deep silk lining of the right-hand pocket

my fingers found a yellowed slip of paper.

A dry-cleaning ticket from 2019,

marked for a stranger who never came back.

I wear his name like a shield against the wind

and wonder if he’s warmer wherever he landed.