Fragments: Steady

A Poem About Grief

I visited you today.

Scoffed at the grass they didn’t cut. 

Found my knees where that shovel broke ground—
in my hands, my dad’s, and our cousins’ too—
the men from before and after you. 

I guess we thought burying you—
wrestling the dirt ourselves—
was the only rite we could wring
from this wrong. 

I’ve been coming more often, 
to talk to you about that
one conversation we had. 

You know, the one where you told me you’d picked out a tree or two. 

I asked if the commute was that bad, 
and we laughed and laughed. 

You said something eighteen-year-old me couldn’t grasp, 
yet
some part of me knew. 

You said you were tired. 

And not just physically.

Sometimes I wonder if you knew
about the secret I was keeping, 
now that I know you carried one too. 

How could you? 

I mean—how could you leave? 

They found that half-empty bottle of vodka under your seat. 

I drank from it later not knowing where it came from—
guess we still managed to share a drink. 

Guess I’ll visit you here, 
because they wouldn’t let me in the ICU. 

And I’ll stay bitter, 
because I caged this monster on your advice
while you were busy 
playing liar’s dice. 

I just wanted to squeeze your hand
between all those lines 
and that machine 
breathing for you. 

The screen wasn’t enough—
I could see, 
but
I couldn’t feel you. 

Guess you were already gone, though, 
that’s what they said before 
asking that impossible question—
and instead of being in the room 
I got a text. 

My kids are doing okay these days, I guess. 
I’m in the exact place you stayed  
when we joked about trees and death. 

I just hope they pull through—
I hope we all do. 

And you’re here, 
not where I need you. 

Could you change the breeze for a moment? 

Bring out the sun, or maybe let the clouds come loose?

Man, I’ve buried how much I miss you—
and maybe I had to. 

I had to. 

That place, and that job, and the next loss that came so quickly—
and the one just a month before you—
what else could I do? 

I have to. 

For three, five, and eight, 
they needed me to steady the weight, 
and all these years later—
man—
I guess I’m just lost. 

I’m either a disaster, 
or I can’t feel a damn thing. 

Can you? 

I need you yesterday, brother, 
‘cause I’ve got no idea what to do. 

You left before I could tell you we spoke the same language, 
shared the same silence. 

Before I could become the man 
you told me I ought to. 

I’m trying hard. 

Lord knows I’ve tried. 

I’ve been walking the path you said I need to—
gonna hit five years soon—
and it hasn’t been enough to carry the consequences 
somewhere else. 

Can your words bring me direction? 

Can they escape the dirt? 

Can you see me now? 

Do you feel this hurt? 

I miss you. 
I guess I’m angry too—
you know. 

Why couldn’t you just 
find another way 
to keep holding on? 

Because now, I’ve been there too. 
I get it. 

Right now my shoes plant where yours did 
when I was eighteen and being a fool—
trying to give you answers
for what’s killing me now. 

I hope God’s keeping you out of trouble.
I hear He looks out for children, 
and fools. 

Same time next week? 

Yeah. 

I love you, man. 

See you later, 
you fuckin’ savage.