Unbutton her carefulness.
Slide your hands into the sleeves where her arms used to be.
There may be a tissue
still folded
like a breath she forgot to exhale.
Take your time.
This is not laundry.
This is elegy.
Use cold water
the kind that makes your fingers ache
like memory.
Add soap.
Nothing scented.
She hated lavender.
Submerge the coat slowly.
Do not wring.
Grief does not like to be twisted.
Press gently, like closing a door
without slamming.
Hang it somewhere quiet.
It will weep for days.
Allow it.
Let it remember
how to be empty.
When dry
fold it.
Place it in a box you won’t label.
Store it beside the others.
