The Whole Sky
He died at 11:50.
I remember because I was staring at the clock
But
I’m not sure how I saw because my eyes remained unseeing
That was not when he truly left
He had left perhaps an hour before
Floating off into another world where I could not follow
Like a petal slipping into a sewer drain on a breeze
How could such innocence be sacrificed?
Without him I was half a grapefruit
Cut open and vulnerable to the violence around me
But able to taste the sweet juices of life and love at last
Understanding them only once part of me was gone
His loss was like a knife
That I can still feel sometimes rattling around in my chest
Even though the wound appears healed
Because every time I meet someone new,
I await the dreaded question:
How many siblings do you have?
And it rings deep in my ears, mocking me
Because I don’t know how to answer.
If I say “none” I’m lying, but if I say “one”
I open up the only question worse:
How old is he?
One that digs into the backs of my eyes
Like an ice pick in a novice’s lobotomy
Spilling out the remains of my mind for all to see
Because this question, while seemingly simple
Is loaded with history, and to unpack it
Would mean telling a stranger my life story
Would mean facing sympathetic looks, and teary eyes
Would mean forgetting myself to comfort them
And I am sick of forgetting myself
Like an optional Alzheimer’s patient
Why do I allow their pain to trump mine?
Perhaps because
I don’t want them to know the pain I’ve felt
Because to show a sliver of it would be
Like cutting a hole in the sky
And watching all the stars spill out in their tangled fiery glory
Burning everything they touch