To E.

I guess it's not nice to hold a knife
To someone's throat and say
Take that back, boy*,
But you did and it's done, and
Insulting my mother the way he did,
I agree that he needed to learn.
He'll never know
It was your sister's
Nail file from when she borrowed
Your coat
That he felt. He shook for hours.

You were refreshingly crazy. Crazy
And equally sly
About hiding the needle marks
From your parents.

Skin and bone, pale as snow from
Riding that old white horse
Since thirteen.
A ghost long before you went.

They found you by their kitchen
Table, box of pills and a note
By your still hands.
Tidy and organized
For once.

You are still my friend,
Wherever you are.
Your memory as intact

As my mother's honour
Remains
To this
Day.