Tag Archives: loss

106. war dead

.

today i found your phone

message and one envelope

that you had sent to

me last year before 

you became just one more dead 

man that I know. 

.

you had sent a photo

that i saved and i won’t hold it 

against my heart 

.

or against you –

.

i for one know the cost of no

interior rest and 

i’d not have lasted

as long, whiskey and gun as

backboard or not.

.

well i did save it 

just not as a sacrament.

more like a scar that

can still raise a smile.

it’s there in a flat tin, now

second drawer down

.

where the accidents

are filed. Let’s assume you could

not have saved yourself

.

since no one else could

save you. Let’s assume 

you’re now comfortable,

warm

loved.

.

105. long memory

.

just under the prairie

grass are my people, dry and

quiet now, dreaming up

.

all the buffalo 

hoofprints of ancestors

long slaughtered.

.

just under the grasses are my

own handprints set in the stone

heart of earth, well buried.

.

this pale body … so different

now only the clouds might

recognize me. 

only the 

clouds might remember me

and they don’t sing out. 

.

101. in my dreams

.

last night i picked up

the phone but you were still dead.

you keep calling me

.

though it’s hard to hear

your words this way, hard to trade

old photos of our

.

heroes, your new collage,

my aimlessly wandering  

with found objects and

.

tribal members. your

brother is angry and P 

is angry with me

.

which is easier. 

i’m fine. i’ve seen your face on

strangers in philly

.

and once in DC … you

winked at me, no less – nice touch

and every time

.

i inscribe three dots

on the bottom of a clay 

pot i smile for you 

.

now untouchable.

it’s always nice to hear from 

you. it’s just hard to

.

understand over this phone.

i’ve reserved a place for you 

in my dreams tonight.

80. my brothers

.

dawn light empties each shallow 

cough and dies sagging against memories. 

we were a quickened lick

of endurance … now we are

ash, like our brother’s

ash, whether mistake  or choice. 

once we shared guilt and hope, now

even that shadow has washed out,

gone. 

you.

and him.

.

how I will miss you.

how I will long for

our tribe, shattered now.

.

empty houses

surround me, ghost murmurs 

and morning light, so painfully

brittle in winter.

.