I Sit in my Closet

In my pajamas, my arms bare and cooling,

I search for warmth in the vest.

The piled lining on my back

radiates my heat back to me.

I hold the worn duck fabric close, tight around me,

and imagine the scent of him.

The vest has weathered wind and cold Alaskan mornings,

 Oregon rainy afternoons.

endured spills of coffee on early morning fishing and hunting trips,

absorbed smoke from late evening campfires.

 I press the softness to my heart,

as I squeeze the hope out of the morning, the hope out of the day.

 Like squeezing the sweetness in the juice,

 from the grapes in my kitchen sink.