Coats

As a child I thought it was weird to see my grandparents with their coats on.

Looking up at the coat hooks, the soft sturdy fabrics would hang strong. Their tarter insides waving warmly.

When we would arrive for Sunday lunch,
those coats would become lost under branded jackets and spider man hats.

My granddad's coat smelt like home made wine. Sometimes, he would put it on, disappear and return with a cold bottle ready for the table.

My grandmother's coat didn't have a smell, but to the touch contained many smooth textures that would feel nice upon my cheek.

Cold holidays were the only time I was with them outside, walking amongst 99p shops and Greggs bakeries.
Their grey fabrics standing steadfast and calm against bright lights and logos.

On the day he died, she said to take the coats down from the hook which my mother slowly did.
And then there was only one coat, hanging strong but less steadfast.

Over time the coats have been replaced with colours and materials that I do not recognise. Instead a rainy day now reveals those coats, on different bodies, but woven in memories.

The other day my mother bought a new coat.
"Last one in the shop" she said
"there wasnt any others, and this one, was in my size."
She put it on happily to show me,
it was full of warmth and shone in the light, it suited her.
"I'll wear it every day" she exclaimed, happily.