We met three times
Over fifteen years.
The disagreement paled
In light of his diagnosis.

He unexpectedly appeared
At my door, then stood in my kitchen.
He had a few serious questions
About brotherly affections,
And after spitting into my sink
(the poor man)
He wondered if I thought less of him
For not sending cards at Christmas and birthdays.
Is that what he came to say?

Next was at our last family wedding.
He was still steady on his feet.
We were five Irish lads.
The sisters said he was the handsome one.
He was.
There are six of us posing in this final shot.
He's wearing a Lucille Ball tie,
Losened around his neck,
Yet covering the gill-like scar
Running from lobe to lobe.
His hands are buried deep
In his pants' pockets.
His smile says Good-bye.

I saw him for the last time
A few weeks later,
Standing, bent and coughing
At the intersedtion of the roadway and Nature Trail.
His rib cage raging from contortions.
He waved off an offered ride.
And then he was gone.
It took us years to get here.

tying a knot for remembering
forget me nots for lovers
when war looms to tear us all apart.

(What we need most
is where we look the least)


I opened up
the big blue barrel
dumped out all our past , present
and future quarrels .

(Just so we could
disagree)

♤  ♤  ♤  ♤

There was
a landslide
          of
em(bouldered) words

A tsunami
         of
emotional waves
all come
crashing down

destroying
all the
encapsulated gains

(the days ,
the months ,
the tears)

the living years ,
now come to disdain

(When you tread on danger's angst
Your words tongue
the leaks in dikes)

(When the clouds come promissing drips
. . . . . . . . . . . .
but instead
it's dust you eat)

Then ,
my lapras dear ,
it's time
to end the years