on giving

Fall last year, around this time a tweaked out woman wandered by 
Knocked on the door, asked for a 20: 
Told her I was broke and couldn’t offer money
But that I had some fruit and could give her a coke, 
then I ran back inside and I grabbed my coat
‘Cause she was dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and vest and when I asked if that’s all she had she said “Yes.”
The piece was cumulonimbus; grey, bold and huge 
With more pockets than I’d figured out how to use
And I thought that since she was small like me it would cover her hands and go down to her knees
So I handed it over with the banana and soda as she stood in the foyer to get out of the cold
I didn’t think much about it, just gave it away, naivety set me up for later that day
Cause as she struggled it on she mentioned she had noticed 
my partner’s guitars
And I knew it’d make him nervous
Someone unknown was in the house
That they were probably on drugs
That I was thoughtless about trouble
That she’d had eyes on his stuff so
When he got home I told him about what’d transpired
Swallowed down salt, and found things a place to hide
Nothing happened, but I know it set an edge for weeks
And now a whole fall later cold bites into my teeth
And I miss that damn jacket
I miss all its pockets
Its bright orange lining, 
Its weather-proof surfaces
I miss the fact that I will never know if it’s being used
If it got lost or maybe traded for a warm night or booze
I regret that I didn’t look at the label
And that if I had I might still be unable
To get a replacement, But the simplest regret is how sour the world can turn you to kindnesses