silence_breaks

Oh Buddy

After you were murdered, I opened
our closet and dragged your things
off of the floor: they belong not here
anymore. I will give your favorite blankets
to the kids, the fedora with the juice stain
to the cat, but your tattered bathrobe,
that will stay with me.

Ill wear it: to your funeral,
while paying the mortgage,
to the grocery store looking for paprika,
while skimming the pool. Barefoot
on the rocks around the siding,

there was a bird floating in the water
broken-winged, belly-up to the sun,
as if telling God that it knew something
that He didnt want the bird to know:
the Antidote, that God sometimes exists
only as a few isotopes in the sash of a bathrobe.