When the Radio Went Quiet

I remember the radio first
that low crackle from another room,
your voice becoming calmer
whenever someone else was afraid.

The uniform always looked heavier
when you came home at night.

Keys on the table.
Badge put away.
Cold air still caught in your jacket.

Outside, blue lights meant trouble.

To me,
they meant you were somewhere
trying to make it less frightening.

And even now,
when I hear a siren far away,
for one second
I still think of you.