Japanese Coat

I pull it out 

from where it hangs, 

bell-shaped--

green like the water 

at the bottom of a pool

when the sun slices through,

with yellow silk, finespun, 

and a red that startles, 

streaks lightning down my back.

The crane's neck 

winds its way across one shoulder,

its one eye gazing

unblinking in its head,

staring me out of countenance.

When last it looked at me

with that unflinching eye

I was not looking back, 

but rather at white walls

and a wheeled bed,

at tubes filled with fast-moving fluid,

at soft yellow hospital socks

that somehow made us laugh

when all we wanted was

a corner to weep in.

All was hushed,

every footfall an earthquake,

every breath consciously drawn.

I take the coat off its hanger

and slide one arm, two, inside,

before grasping the doorknob

and walking out to you

while the crane keeps watch.