Store Credit

I was digging for wool to cover my feet

when I pulled out the coat she bought on the street.

It’s too heavy for spring, too stiff in the sleeve,

a parting gift meant to make it hard to leave.

I found the tag tucked deep in the breast,

a price like a debt I haven't confessed.

The brass of the zipper is cold on my skin,

biting my neck where the collar pulls thin.

I didn't deserve the weight of the thread,

or a single word of the things that she said.

I hang it back up in the dark of the hall,

waiting for winter or nothing at all.