Wool Hunting Coat

there's a smell to it
doesn't slip off with the hanger
rains don't dissolve steel and
oak in a weave of tobacco
heavy, sopping with predawn
mists and marsh sucking boot steps

it sure holds gravity
an orchard of apples drumming the ground
sniffed a mile away
this red and black checkerboard
burdocks stationed pawns across my back
and seeds of grass ancestors
rolled up in the seams

walking in this, through
fall sombre fields
and bluejays chanting rain
breezes snag, unraveling
the red and black eulogy
it’s streaming behind me
catching on rosehips, blackberry vines
tiny bones are tumbling from my pockets
patience, keep moving, these things take time

Charlane Bishop