15 | onward

2005

for the possibility of more 
hope
the memories that died with you
the way they sold your car 
quickly in the aftermath
that Andrea does her own make up now, and she is good
she reminds me of you as her hair loses its blonde
that Jenny has a boyfriend named Lewis these days
on tour with his band, recently signed
I think they’ll get married sometime soon
that she will look beautiful
and be happy
and we’ll all regret that you will not be there to stand up in the ceremony

she stood up at your funeral, you know, read back to you a poem
you wrote for her in rhyming couplets
when she left for college and didn’t sleep
across the hall anymore
to steal sweaters from or borrow bathing suits and music
she was brave
you should have seen the people
who came out for you that day in Cobb County

I don’t know what will become of your mother
she gave up selling real estate
to write thank you cards for donations to your fund
I wondered - ignorantly then - why she couldn’t do both
but the absence of you was so wholly consuming
there was nothing left for her to take into the waking hours
but cropped auburn hair, the warped photographs
of you making an Elvis face in the dashboard of her car
last summer’s home video with you in the background
swinging your hair to the side, replayed in slow motion
to every visitor
and those of us
who still find the corners
to pour and heave
observed
at all the family holidays  

If there was a grave in Marietta
that your kitchen-seated ash
could fill, maybe then I could tell you
that you are
why I stamped my passport
boarded tight aisled planes 
to Guatemala
to Europe
to Home
again so often
tramped through soggy airports
rode in strangers’ cabs
drank an awful lot

that I,
I’m still lighting candles in cathedrals
for the sake
of something to do
as if it would help, as if I’m checking in
still cringing at the tray to see
how many others
find it necessary for the pain
but we’re more on speaking terms these days.

and that
the trains are still sprinting
on cold waves of cadence
on azure spark
going
coming back again
that I will be on them  
and that this is how we will go on
with salsa at the back of our tired throats
hanging on our mingled breath, lingering
to one day loosen its flavor, but not
altogether drop its grip