Unearthed

For Tyshawn Bonito

The tweed blazer, shirt, and tie were laid out and pressed—
Your clothes set out on the bed that morning

for a job interview. Cufflinks on each sleeve, and shoes
on the floor near each pant leg. Shades down
with the window open. The night before

was one of the many times I avoided your call. I carry
around a blame that holds me apart: an alley cat left in the open—

You were so down. Your walk so hip, a sharp purposely played out of
key. All that’s left is me, grandma, and this house. It all seems to
matter more over an old hard feeling.

The day I found you anchored high on a belt, there was snow
on the windowsill, but it wasn’t cold—

I’m afraid to understand how close we are, holding in
the family’s unmarked ledges. Brother, it’s still hard to walk around
with this face, hands, and blood.

by Chris Slaughter
from his collection “How to Hurt“