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POETRY MONTH: 'The Coat': from 'The Wind Blows Through the Doors' by Deborah Digges

Deborah Digges, who took her own life in the spring of 2009, wrote poems of grief throughout her career—some painful and unsparing, but many with a silver lining of comfort and sly celebration. Here is "The Coat," written for her husband, from her posthumous collection The Wind Blows Through the Doors of My Heart.


The Coat

I wore your clothes when you went out of town,
your white or light blue shirts for my pajamas.
I wear your coats now when I walk our dogs,
then we stop by to see the horses.
This coat, bought at the fair, remember,
so-called Tibetan wool, whose hood drawn tight
around my head, my hair locked up against the cold,
my heart a white flag lost among the snowdrifts.
Except today I saw a face like yours
through those last wrenched months of your long illness,
a man whose face was flying through his being,
jaundiced, hardly here, at once recognizable.
Forgive me I was happy in your coat to see you!