Returning Home from Adam’s Funeral by Heather Minette

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Returning Home from Adam’s Funeral

Drunk on whiskey and mourning,
my key slips twice at the front door.
Tripping in black high heels over the
idle memories I left scattered across
my bedroom floor, I make my way into
the closet where I reach one arm
awkwardly behind my back to unzip
the dress I bought five days after
he went missing, three days after
his body was found. I hang it in the
shadowed corner behind the winter
coats, knowing I will never wear it
again, knowing I could wash from it
the sweat that dripped from the nape
of my neck in the crowded funeral parlor,
the smell of the barroom’s four o’clock
smoke, the spilled drink of his swaying
sister. I could wash it and wear it again,
somewhere far from here, in the streets
of Madrid or on a front porch in
Madisonville, or walking along a windy
shoreline while my blonde-haired
nieces collected seashells and laughed
with their faces to the sun, but I know
that I never will. Because still,
I would wear the sadness.

 


Heather Minette

Heather Minette is a graduate student of literature at The University of Houston – Clear Lake and the author of Rooftops and Other Poems. She is an editor at The Blue Hour and writes at www.heatherminette.com