Sunday, June 24, 2012


I told you this, brother
And it will always be true.
I will never know what you
Would have become.

If your hair would have
Continued to tangle
Into unmanageable curls
After your voice stopped breaking.

Or if you would have
Scored the touchdown
That would have made
Our father's heart soar.

Or if, on some imaginary day
At my wedding, you would have
Cracked a bawdy joke
And brought the house down
With your blue eyes.

In my dreams, you occasionally show up
With different faces
And you tell me some wisdom
From beyond, that I always lose
Upon waking.

I told you this, but I know
This part to be true.
I have nothing but this tiny flower
From a Pennsylvania summer,
For a Pennsylvania grave.

I miss you.


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