Final Shirt

INTRO by Ted Kooser

Some of you may think that I pub­lish too many poems about the deaths of loved ones, but poet­ry is a means of estab­lish­ing order and form when times feel dis­or­dered and form­less. Marge Sais­er is a Nebras­ka poet and this poem is from the Win­ter 2016 issue of RAT­TLE, a Cal­i­for­nia lit­er­ary jour­nal. Her most recent book is I Have Noth­ing to Say About Fire, from Back­wa­ters Press.

By Marjorie Saiser

After my father died, my mother
and my sisters picked the shirt, the tie;
he had just the one suit.
I left them to it, I didn't
want to choose, I loved him
all those years. They took a shirt
from the closet, I don't remember
which one, I'm sure he had worn it
to church and hung it up again.
They held a tie against the cloth
of the shirt. They decided, finally.
It's like that. Things come down
to the pale blue or the white,
or some other. Someone buttoned it
over him, those buttons he had unbuttoned.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2016 by Marjorie Saiser, “Final Shirt,” from RATTLE, (Vol. 54, Winter, 2016). Poem reprinted by permission of Marjorie Saiser and the publisher. Introduction copyright © 2024 by The Poetry Foundation.