by Rebecca Dutsar
From the April 2015 Issue

They told us that you left
much laughter behind,
but this morning,
it was difficult to
fish through my closet,
stumbling across
the belts and neck ties,
searching for an outfit
to wear to my same old desk job.

Instead, I did not wear one
at all and left the top button
of my shirt undone.
The secure embrace
I once considered friendly
now felt cold, a cloud
rolling across the sky to
rain on the next town over.

In the afternoon millions flocked
to your bench, your home,
your gold star to leave
photos and flowers.

Tonight, I took the new
brown belt in my closet,
still hardened in newness,
it’s dark sheen reflecting my face
as I stared at it with caution,
and laid it loose on my carpet,
letting it breathe,
letting me breathe so the laughter
might come back.