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It is her coat My Anya’s coat Or what is left of it I cannot see the bright red anymore, but there is her name, written in my own hand, on a scrap of paper pinned to the lapel The paper is wet and the ink blurred, but it is there Half of the coat is ine how that happened—one side is simply torn away

I can see black bloodstains on the pale lining, too

I hold it todeeply I can smell her in the fabric

Inside the pocket, I find the photograph of her and Leo that I’d sewn into the lining See?I’d said to her on the day we’d hidden it—that was back when they were first evacuating the children, it feels like decades ago—Now your brother will always be with you

I take the tiny scrap of paper with her na do I sit there in the snow, strokingher smile?

Forever

No one will give un Every man I ask tells me to calm down, that I will feel better tomorrow

I should have asked a wo hio

Or maybe I am the only one who

Anyway, the pain is unendurable And I do not want to get better I deserve to be as unhappy as I aet

I h the snowy countryside There are sodead on the road that no one tries to stop , I turn toward it If my feet hurt less, I would have run

I find what I ahth day

It is the front line

I walk past the Russians, my countrymen, who call out for me and try to stop me

I pull arenching if I need to, hitting, kicking, and I keep going