Seasons by Katherine Van Eddy

Blue is the color of the coat
I wore the last time
the only time.

Shimmering turquoise polyester
my husband wanted to buy it
while we wandered Macy’s in January
without a thought to time, money
or anyone else.

Notched collar, pleated in back,
it fit tight on my narrow frame
still unstretched by children.
I wore it end of February
buttoned over a small black dress,
high heels, excess of time
spent on styling hair, make-up
for our date to an Oscar viewing party
at Capitol Theater downtown.
It would be the last time I watched
the awards show all the way through

but not the last time that I hung the coat
as it’s moved with us between apartments,
houses, always hung with reverence.

For awhile beside my dresses, waiting
for another date, then over time
in other rooms, out of sight.

It’s summer now, and as we fit
our belongings into boxes yet again,
this time doesn’t feel right to bring
with us. I know the time I could still
wear it, try it on, feel beautiful,
feel that we fit each other
is past.

Gone is the time
that I would reach for it
pull it towards me
slip it around to warm me
sure beyond certainty
it was all I needed
in this moment,
the perfect piece
to complete me.

I’ve already pulled down the winter coats,
our daughter’s dresses from around it,
left the brilliant like-new blue
surrounded by empty hangers.


About the Author: Katherine Van Eddy

Katherine Van Eddy is a California-born poet living in Tacoma, Washington. She earned a BA in Creative Writing and MAT in Elementary Education from the University of Puget Sound. Her poems have appeared in Crosscurrents, Creative Colloquy Volume 4, Gold Man Review, and HoosierLit. She currently teaches 3rd/4th grade at a Catholic school while moonlighting as a writer and runner.