The Failing Familiar

I pulled it out when the weather turned cold,

this jacket I've worn for so many years,

the familiar weight, and now it appears

that this thing that held me is getting old.

I know the stain on the left sleeve,

the coffee spill from a year ago,

the seams that have carried me through every woe,

the way it held me, let me not leave.

And then the zipper stuck halfway,

caught on something, refusing to move,

and I pulled at it, trying to improve

the situation, but it wouldn't give way.

I had to pull myself out of it,

had to contort my arm to be free,

had to finally come to see

that this jacket was breaking down, bit by bit.

The jacket that held me is done.

It's broken. And now I'm afraid

of what comes next. I've paid

for wearing it till it came undone.