DRUGS Poem: If They Ask, by Sara Shea

For Jed

Why I went back
that black night,
after they cut you down,
as yellow tape lashed and whipped
like a torn sail in a storm,
after rain scoured the pavement raw—

Tell them
the window was unlatched.
Tell them
I slipped inside, shadow-thin,
crawled back through the dust,
through the whiskey-hickory musk
of your absence,
for one last look.

Tell them
I took your hat from its hook—
the sun-bleached ball cap,
mesh lined with the salt of your sweat,
still cupped to the shape of your brow.
The last thing you took off
before
taking
your life.

Author: poetryfest

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