Jacket On A Chair

You carelessly tossed
the jacket on a chair.
The assembly of cloth
collapsed in slow motion
into a heap of cotton —
cotton freshly picked
from the fields —
like flesh
without a spine.
The chair’s wooden
frame provided a brief
skeleton,
but it wasn’t enough
to renew the coat’s
shape, the body’s
prior strength,
or the muscle
to hold its own.
When one peels off
one’s outer skin,
it is difficult
to hide
the true nature of
blood.
Wood, wool, stitches,
and joints —
an epitaph
of a cardplayer’s
shuffle,
and the history
of my dark faith.

by Sudeep Sen.

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