My Coat... For Norman (If God Wills It So) Poem by r james sterzinger

I wear my bitterness
like my comfortable
old coat that
I refuse to
throw away
because I know
its smell.

it keeps me warm
protects me
from your cold
accompanies me
on long walks
that seem to have
no end.

the collar turns
up just right
so the sun never gets
in nor the cold
nor prying eyes
that wonder what
I carry in
my deep pockets.

I carry in
my pockets
snippets of
grocery bills,
and on the backside
wild accusations
and poetry
written in red
smeared ink
that challenges
God like
a spoiled hurt
child would.

my coats wool
blend is a
hair shirt
to me and its
itch helps me
to repent of
the anger I feel
when I storm
out of the house
in blindness
with my dog on walks
with my tail
between my legs
after another
yellow hot fight
with you.

my coat has holes
in its pockets
where my spare
change falls out
like poison from
an old wound
festering.

I look like
hell in my old coat
like Lazarus coming
from the tomb,
like ash
from a smoke stack,
like Belzen,
like Buchenwald,
like sadness.

the worst
thing in the world
is to die
expecting mercy
and
when not finding mercy
is to find in your heart
such searing anger
that any hope or love
you may have nailed,
have crucified
your humanity on
is burned away
in some reverse
alchemist's process,
that there is nothing left but
true murderous thoughts:
thoughts of contempt.

the backward side of love
we all carry,
we all carry;
stumbling toward eternity...

which
is why I wear my old coat
on my shoulders
like a friend,
who holds me like
a friend
when I cry out my tears
of joy and sadness
when no one is around
but me and my dog
on long walks
at midnight
when my children are in bed
and you tell me you
need some alone time
and I fit in
like a St. Bernard
in a shoe box

my old coat and a walk
parachutes me down
to the ground
where I am safe
and can go on.

it keeps me from Jarrell jumping
into traffic
falls on the ice
and Gadarene madness
that may overtake me
when the patches will
no longer hold the needles
thread.