The darkened country chapel is sunlit.

Through wide gapped windows, tinted

glass circles of blue, red, and pink.

They illuminate the running mascara

beneath thin black veils. Somber pianos

underscore a dampened melody.

 

You fled the zip code months ago,

in a violent cloud of diesel exhaust.

Your sisters and father took you home.

We kissed goodbye well before they arrived.

I was never meant to meet the father who

wouldn’t accept the people he didn’t understand.

You rode in the back seat, with your sisters. Silently.

 

You killed me to escape the blame.

I was defenseless in this game

of war. You severed our short rope.

You allowed me to be the first to fall.

I had to nurse our one-sided connection

because you orphaned it out of fear.

 

My family sees your face in the crowd.

They look up from their tearstained skin.

You walk the wooden planks that lead to me.

I can hear the footsteps from your leather

soled shoes. You drown in the weeping sea

of those who loved me and never knew you.

​

I was introduced to your childish ways

long before I even knew your name.

I danced under your red flags with eyes

closed to the darkness of your bad

habits – only because the better ones

were forever fluorescent in light.

 

How dare you book your flight while crying at the news?

How could you rent that suit in my trademarked hue?

How did you use me to commit your murderous debut?

 

At my stone, my mother’s sorrows soak

the eulogy she reads. The best of sons.

You stand between the farthest willows.

The breeze blows through their leaves

and rustles your blondish hair. They bow

their heads and grieve for me in solidarity.

 

Death wasn’t what you thought.

The living mourn my absence

in pain. You mourn my name

and pretend I’m not living

freely in your mind,

faithfully ingrained.