The Jacket

Her most treasured possession

Fraying

Veritably threadbare

Once brown

Now no longer

Original colour faded out

Existing only in memory

As he does now

Grandpops

Her adored Grandpops

 

Three years since he passed away

His jacket

The one he wore come rain or shine

Became hers

Only hers

And the emotions

Which came with it

She wore it every day

His jacket

Come rain or shine

He somehow feeling closer

Protecting her even now

As he once had

 

What now?

As the jacket

His jacket

Borrowed from him

On permanent loan

Now worn by her

Gently wears out

She cries

Tears of despair

What now?

No amount of cleaning

Of repairing

Patching up

Can save it

Things wear out

Memories don’t

What now?

 

A suggestion arrives from afar

Grandpops lives in you

In those treasured times

His words of love

Of humour

His jacket

Your jacket

The symbol

Of all he was

Find an exact replica

Have one made if needs be

Like when it was new

When Grandpops wore it the first time

It’s the remembrance

Deep inside

Your new jacket

Worn

In honour of his jacket

It will still hold the memories

Every single one of them

 

New jacket

Same old warmth

 

So she did

And it does

Comforts her

This new jacket

Exactly like before

Worn with love

 

What of Grandpops old jacket?

Framed, it hangs in her den

She smiles up at it

And dances a happy dance

Just as she did with Grandpops

So many times

Wearing her

His jacket 

 

www.deanfrasercentral.com 

#inspirational #love #self-growth #spirituality

◄ Solitude Where Are You?

Dragons ►

Comments

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deanfraserofficial@yahoo.com

Thu 2nd Jul 2020 08:37

Po...it is wonderful to recite, you are right!

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poemagraphic

Wed 1st Jul 2020 19:09

What a great poem to recite this is Dean.

Po

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deanfraserofficial@yahoo.com

Wed 1st Jul 2020 16:27

This is about a friend of mine and is a true story. Thank you for the comments, much appreciated that you enjoy my poetry.

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M.C. Newberry

Wed 1st Jul 2020 14:08

Moving in its account of how important an object can be in keeping
alive the presence of someone who has passed. I kept one item
on the death of my mother - the spectacles she wore and which
were, to all intents and purposes, part of the face I knew.

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Wed 1st Jul 2020 11:41

Very interesting. A sharp comment on human perception/conception (and perhaps deception) throughout history, the need for physical 'icons'.

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