Still In There Somewhere

It was still in the cleaner's plastic — hung

behind the other things I'd kept.

I wasn't looking for it. It swung

out when I moved the row. I'd swept

past it for years. Still put one sleeve

on before I thought about it — that

reflex. Got it to the shoulder. Leave

the rest: the back went flat

and taut, the other side refusing,

the seams making their point.

I stood in the mirror — one arm losing,

one in, the jacket out of joint

across my back. I knew.

Have known for years.

I stayed a full minute like that.

One sleeve on.

The other side just hanging.