Old Hat

It was like you, so considerate a man,
to have your papers in order, to leave
your belongings neat; while compelled to grieve,
we were spared the hard, niggling tasks that can
clutter and spoil grief. Yet not even you
understood how a mere cap on its hook,
companion on those outings you still took,
could hang so heavily for all those who,

like you, would keep a tidy house. We’ve tried
to sort your things, but where are we to hide
those in which some living threads remain?
What we want is to store such things outside
the slow, spiraling loss of love and pain
that turns you, day by day, into a stranger.