Funeral clothes were still lying draped,
dark and liquid on the bed – at hand, when you died. But now I’m wearing you. Like a bear-skin coat that’s musty and warm and weighs on my arm when I reach for my guitar, hampers my chest when I move too fast, brushes my face, like a lion’s mane. Your fur-lined cap is all round my head, keeping out cold; your heart on my sleeve. I shrug on your jacket when I leave, pressing in to its suede, rough, ready, Davy Crockett caramel. I can’t take you off and you will never wear out. Only ride on my shoulders, borne forever in my mind. For all I owe you, for all you are, this is enough. |