I see my coat after walking home in the rain

{written on spring break}

My jacket is crunchy. It sat up all night, sprawled on a kitchen chair, sobering up after an overindulgence in sky-water. It walked me home from the movie, saw me safely inside the door, and collapsed.

I'm a little surprised; it's such a fastidious little spring coat, all buttons and belts and collar. Nothing sexy about it, and nothing really wild -- unless you count a little gold embroidery on the cuffs as wild (in which case, dear, we need to have a talk about what wild is). But there it is, slumped next to the table, blinking in the sunlight and asking me to walk a little more quietly.