• Penny Harter


This morning’s poem comes from the forecast of a polar cold front due to sweep down the mid-Atlantic coast later this week.

Coat Pockets

As late winter deepens, falling from a sky

sometimes scoured blue, sometimes dull

gray signifying snow, I dig out my down

coat from the hall closet, stuff my hands

deep into its pockets, and find the past.

Balled up tissues crumple memories,

and crumbs caught in the seams must be

the remains of last year’s holiday cookies.

This old coat no longer fits after months

of indoor quarantine, and the top closet shelf

is an unkempt stew of scarves, hats, and gloves.

Although we face a bitter cold, I enter these

days of lengthening light hoping for a different

spring, for a warming sun to bless us and finally

unmask our weary faces in its light.

© 2020 Penny Harter

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