20 April 2010

The Loss that Changed Everything

This is what I remember,
the pencil sketches on newsprint
that I must translate.

I remember, five, you at two, brother,
the smell of your boy sweat hair,
the grasp of fingers into my shirt
as one we wrestled on a carpet, our imaginary sea.

I remember the morning a week later
you left me:
Father carrying me, whispering to me he loved
me, whispering of
whispering the stains of weeping
on his cheeks.
I remember someone visiting and
giving me a set of
over two
crayons which even then I thought a gift
too small to match
or burn
the loss.

But mostly I remember sitting in a small
rocking chair while the adults mourned,
hearing the wails and moans and mournings of a
cat that had
homed under our house and
wondering where they had hidden you
and if I could set you free.

I have been told not to write a confessional
because when you grow up,
nobody cares,
but this is for me finally and not
for them.


House Ragu said...

That is one of the best poems I've read in a long time. Thank you.

Ally Malinenko said...

This is achingly good. Like a desired,needed and well placed punch in the face. Thank you.

Jef Peeples said...

Thank you both.

Troubled Reflector said...

Hi Jef

Some of our most intimate invitations are immersed in pain. Thank you for letting us view the inside you.

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