COMMENTS, PLEASE. DOES THIS POEM SPEAK TO YOU?
She grasped his coat,
the one he always wore.
It stank of beer and coffee
and the waft of wind at dawn
on a sandy beach in summer.
She wiped her tears on the sleeve,
tutted, tearing at a loose button,
then bunched the fabric
and tore, at arm’s length
until it shredded, ripped asunder,
wrenched stitches, like a gaping wound.
Why, she screamed,
at the torn garment,
Why – again, tearing – could you not see
that we were always destined
to rend ourselves apart?