One Last Poem

I normally take a little time to explain many of the poems I post, which helps some, to the chagrin of others. Well, I have a lot to say about this piece, why it was created, and most importantly, who it is for. Some that actually know me (or might have read this in my writing portfolio on another site) will understand immediately, but I do feel the necessity to offer a little background, and how things have changed since I wrote this poem, some five years ago.

Thanksgiving, 1996, or I should say the day after Thanksgiving, as I had to work the actual day, was the last time I really spoke to my brother. I would see him briefly on Christmas, but we did not say much, and he was already celebrating. I do not recall much of what we spoke of... football, the upcoming Star Wars Special Editions, art, the usual... when we did talk. The best thing I remember was that he was smiling and laughing, but Jerry always had a smile or joke for someone, and a magnetic personality that drew others to him. I can charm a person or two with my conversational skills, Jerry could charm whole crowds with his laugh. In many ways, we were polar opposites. I was the cerebral, responsible one; he, the prankster, the comic, fun loving one. Even as athletes, we were opposite. I was lean, playing basketball, he would play football and baseball (but as a lumbering catcher). By 1996, physically, we had caught up with each other, I being not so lean anymore, he mostly the same, though finally a little taller than I. By 1996, we did not speak so much, though he was always supportive of family, showing up at my wedding, always playing with our younger siblings (getting them into trouble when I was watching them, straining things further when we were teens), the first to get a beer for relatives. Again, I relished my stoicism and intellectualism, Jerry simply relished and reveled. In the end, he was a fun person to be around even if the conversation was lacking. We were both passionate though. He about his art, me about writing, though our temperaments kept us from collaborating in comics, which was what he was best at. He was an incredible sketch artist, and I still have many of his works, as do my parents and siblings (my favorite being an Iron Man piece he did for me back in high school). He would have been a remarkable artist, far greater than me as a writer.

No one would ever see how great he would be as on January 18, 1997, Jerry passed away suddenly, from a combination of alcohol and a pain killer he was apparently allergic to. It basically shut him down and he went to sleep. Needless to say, the next week was a numbing blur and I could not fathom how my Dad got by, especially when he gave Jerry's eulogy, one of the most moving things I had ever heard, and did not stumble throughout it. His strength at that moment was astonishing, and all my strength... I realized how little I had, but did not know how it would affect me in the coming years. I was not his pall bearer, but so many of my relatives and his friends wanted that honor, I felt it right for them to do so. I watched, barely commenting at all as he was interred and waited. I thought I would have something to say if I was the last one to leave the grave site. I was, but I did not. I left, running away as best I could. In the end, the heartache and the pain would catch up with me, and the effects of which would cost me friends, and to some extent, my marriage (but like many marriages, it was a combination of things). The fact remained that I could not (or would not) face his death, and all that was left unsaid. One night, around this time of year, five years ago, I did. I started writing, thinking of all that I needed to say about our life that was.

Since then, this poem changed me as a writer and changed how I viewed my family and life in general. I saw what I was missing (still see what I am missing at times), and knew I could not take it for granted. So what I have tried to do, at least that is my hope, is to honor his memory and legacy as an artist by becoming the writer I am. The following poem is as much a memorial as it is a beginning, our life that was and my life that may be.

'One Last Poem'

One last poem
One last little verse
A few simple words
Or a mere hint of a rhyme
Would that be enough
To forget that winter’s day?

We hardly saw eye to eye
even in that distant world
those resplendent summers where
we seemed inseparable,
and time forgave us for our innocence
but we did not care nor need to.
Games and toys and films of places long
ago and far away
let us linger for as long as we could
without worrying what had to be…

They caught up with us
and made decisions instead of asking
Not really selfish but focused on
doing the best with what they had.
Understanding had to wait.
We held on but it cost us
forging a false jealousy I never could
comprehend,
Tearing at the fabric of our hearts
Those wounds took too long to mend…

One last poem…
One last little verse
A few simple words
Or a mere hint of a rhyme
Could that be enough
To wish this heartache away?

A wedge became a rift and
seeing each other seemed
trying, making speaking even worse.
Sure we were older
and commitments got in the way,
but too much became unsaid.
Others tried to stand in the path
Leaving us to shuffle and avoid
Frustrating, giving in
Thinking we would have another day…

I did not say much on that bone chilling morn
A numbness overwhelmed what was left
in my heart
not even noticing the rip in my soul.
This blank shell of a man faced
with that piteous lifeless stare
crushing my spirit for how long,
I did not care.
You always thought I had strength.
Not then…

One last poem…
One last little verse
A few simple words
Or a mere hint of a rhyme
Should have been enough
To bring comfort on that day…

Waiting till they were gone
And it was just you and me
Had to say something,
A word maybe two.
Just a reminder of our life that was
Yet thoughts of the words
Did not become a sound.
The anguish and burden too much
And instead of moving on
I moved away…

Five years gone
Thousands of tears shed
would think so much has changed...
Not really, yet
All that I needed to say I finally can
No help from others running my life.
The rift healed, alas too late
wondering if saying then would
Have changed all that was.
Except maybe I could have
Said this on that day…

One last poem…
One last little verse
A few simple words
Or a mere hint of a rhyme
All that I would give
For my friend that I lost
The brother I still miss.

C.