Holes Poem by Katrina Harms

I reached into a pocket
slow at first, fingers descended
into silken threaded
lining
And then the searing, aching
scraps of meaning
sewn into those weathered hems

The winter always knows
your hand-me-down coat, its patches
unwittingly exposed
While frozen breaths of jeering peers
Seep through every weakened seam in you-
Threadbare.
Home sewn.

'A stitch, in time, saves nine, '
is what she said when
she underpinned and knotted thread,
Unmatching patches hid a shredded hole-
with care and skill
unknown to me then, and I thought
how I'd kill for
Brand new.
Store bought.

Yet those tenderly mended
Holes said more
than any shabby coat I wore, and
now I find myself
ragged,
torn,
despairing, and not for
any tattered jacket I'm now wearing.

But for one that fits me much too snugly
and though it's weathered, worn and ugly
It's the
only thing
I've ever
Truly
Loved.