The Previous Owner

I bought it for twenty dollars at the place

on Fourth, the one with handwritten tags.

Wore it three times before I found the receipt

folded so many times the paper felt like skin,

soft at the creases, the ink nearly gone—

a pharmacy receipt. 2019. Sertraline, 50mg.

I read the dosage. Stood there in the kitchen,

coat half on, one arm in, one arm out.

Folded it back exactly how I found it.

Carried it to the trash. Stood there again.

Someone wore this coat while they were trying

to get better. Or while they weren't.

I don't know which, and that's the part

that comes back at odd hours,

for no reason I can explain.