Inheritance

My father gave me his silence

the way you give a child a coat—

too big, too cold,

but meant for the weather ahead.

I wear it now.

People ask me what's wrong

and I open my mouth

and give them the coat.

They don't know what to do with it either.

They hand it back.

We stand there, both of us

holding the sleeves,

not sure who the cold belongs to.