Back To Work Poem by Brian Rihlmann

She's back at work today,
red-eyed and drained
after a week of elusive sleep,
family and condolences,
and planting his body
like a time capsule
of the last decade.

Our awkward hugs
are poor substitutes
for his arms,
useless syllables
fall from our lips,
like limp, strangled creatures
dangling from nooses.

The hours pass,
the office quieter than usual
except for occasional sniffling
and muffled sobs
that break the silence.

She sits at her desk,
face buried in her hands,
speaking a new language,
unknown to us.

It drifts ghostlike
through the room
pinning us to our chairs,
striking us mute.