Not so long ago, I inherited a coat that had belonged to a far-flung relative. I learned a lot about him from what I found in the pockets. The more I learned, the more I appreciated the man. I wrote this villanelle in his honor.
Blaze
The coat is surely from his east coast days
those years in Boston no one talks about
when he untied the strings a thousand ways.
I find a matchbook from the nightclub BLAZE
unopened in a pocket – without doubt
the coat is surely from his east coast days.
I think of him on stage, the thick-breathed haze
above his head and how the crowd would shout
when he untied the strings a thousand ways,
so far from home, a farm boy in that maze
of all that drugs and rock n roll could spout.
The coat is surely from his east coast days
and now I smile to think of all the ways
he honored her along that sacred route
when he untied the strings a thousand ways.
I treasure every unstruck match that says
some people love home best by getting out.
The coat is surely from his east coast days
when he untied the strings a thousand ways.
