Jean-Jacket
by Hibah Shabkhez
You are now in awe
Of its power, this faded blue rag
You are ripping
To mop up a spill -
A jacket you saw
Last on shoulders fast learning to sag
In the nipping
Winter, poised and chill,
In work-worn hands
Robbed of their last dream.
The piece of cloth lands
Like a gut-punch -
Makes you remember,
And makes you hunch
Your own shoulders;
You tear asunder
What never was whole.
The sharp sound,
The film of dust, rising
From the wound
In one final burst of glory
Is a funeral-rite
In no lore for a memory:
This will resurrect
Itself; return, bristling,
Reach for another bite
Of your sanity -
Resurrect, and bracket
Itself squarely in a thing
Ripe to meet its fate -
A chipped plate,
A creaking swing-set,
Another jean-jacket.