Sister, The Hour After His Suicide

Pale and fragile,
coiled like the dried out shell of a snail
on a murky green carpet,
the broken heap of her body
encircled her new fear.

On the floor,
I molded my body around hers,
entering her silence,
minutes passing unnoticed.

Then in a whisper,
her demon escaped,

"They don’t know,"

their children playing
in the front yard.

My words needing to travel
across the abyss he left her with,
I replied,

"We’ll tell them."