I carry a coat Filled with my past Its has old notes Scrawled across like signatures on a cast
I have spirits living in the pockets Demons sinking in through moth eaten holes They whisper your name in sonnets Convey and disclose
This cloak Is ancient Is heavy The apparitions do nothing but reminisce
Mummi despised wearing clothing belonging to the deceased “It is bad luck to not let bhoots subside” She spoke at me Rather than directly to her beti But what of the ghosts I am forced to wear mother? When will they leave?