Your mother’s old coat

is now tucked back in the closet:
Hood ready for cold Jersey rains,
heavy with fingerless knit gloves
the size of Lexington, Kentucky–
their pink flowers a reminder of
a painter’s love for you. 
 
The other pocket doesn’t go empty. 
Before spring, you thought you lost one
of your grandmother’s black isotoners,
but days later, found it waiting in your Soul.