Jennifer Horgan
Begin
Last time I wore this coat I must have been going somewhere nice
The lipstick I find in the lining is dry, but I put it on anyway
Press my masked lips together as if I’m about to kiss a stranger
in a thronged bar at night—thick with odour. My bare white knees
flashing under the strike of his match. Nothing but light and love to
catch
I’ve grown older this October.
I bought this coat to last forever but I’ll leave it now in a bag at my
door
Daydream some small hand ribboning through torn satin, someone
cold out there
who might fare better with a second skin, wear it out this winter or
the next
Begin
to move onwards, onwards, onwards into Spring