Would You by Bob Hicok

if the silence of the shadow of a life is all we have

Would You

by Bob Hicok

If you were a pipe in a house 
burning down, if you were the water 
in the pipe, if you were the man 
standing outside in his pajama bottoms, 
holding your infant daughter in one arm,
your mother's urn in the other 
to keep her from being lost 
among the ashes of window sills
and joists, some of which fall 
like snow at your feet,
if you were the blanket 
slipped over the man's shoulders,
his only home in that moment,
if you were the warmth of one hand 
and then another on his back,
leading him away, if you were the moon 
doing its job above the fire,
pulling at oceans and imaginations,
if you were the fire fighter 
who saw a wolf in the flames,
saw it turn three times 
as if beckoning, and followed,
and were never heard from again 
not a word or bone from your body,
if the silence of the shadow of a life 
is all we have, all we leave 
if being has no skeleton,
if autopsies are dissections 
of zeroes, if your lips 
were cicadas against my ear,
if your teeth found their way 
to my heart, the red meal of love,
if you had wings, if Icarus called
from the sun, if Sisyphus said,
try again.

first published in ONLY POEMS (2026)