The Coat's Pocket

Pulled it from the lining, threadbare,

a snag of cloth, a forgotten prayer.

Maroon. The color of old wine,

a bruise on something held divine.

It was a ribbon, velvet thin,

a memory caught within.

Of colder days, a winter coat,

a word unsaid, a hurried note.

That deep, dark stain upon the wool,

made the whole damn memory full.

A season sealed, a fading ember,

what the heart tries to dismember.