Inside Pocket

The coat was in the back of the closet

since February, maybe March.

I put it on this morning for the cold

and my hand went into the inside pocket—

habit—

and found it.

The paper soft at the folds

the way paper gets when you've handled it

past the point where it's still paper.

The ink still legible.

The handwriting not mine.

I stood in the hallway with the coat half on,

reading something I'd memorized

and apparently forgot I'd memorized.

I don't remember deciding to stop carrying it.

No ceremony. No moment.

Just: one day I didn't,

and then the coat went to the back of the closet,

and that was that.

I read it once.

Folded it back the same way.

Put it in the pocket.

The cold's supposed to hold all week.