Ten Years

I was already late.

Mid-zip the teeth let go—

the pull came off into my palm,

the two sides falling low

and open. Ten years that jacket.

Three moves, two jobs, one year

I drove eight hours with everything

I owned, and it was there.

It zipped fine last week.

I stood in the hall

holding the small metal tab,

the jacket open—that's all,

just hanging. Both sides loose.

I put the pull in my pocket.

Held the jacket shut with one hand.

Went out anyway. Couldn't stop it

from looking like what it was.