I turned around
and there you were.
A tall, dark figure
in your peacoat
and hat,
protected against the cold,
but not against the chill.
I shivered.
“Hi,” I said,
climbing off the counter.
“Hi,” you said,
moving towards me,
brown eyes dazed,
bravery turning up your mouth,
fresh brewed grief
darkening the new lines
on your face.
“I heard,” I said,
and held out my arms,
because that was the only thing
I could give.
I would have given all of myself,
if I knew how.
“I don’t understand.
I don’t know why.
I don’t understand,”
you whispered,
the whisper caught somewhere
between my hair and my shoulder,
hanging there,
haunted words,
a defeated admission from someone
who has been turning over “Why”
in his hands for hours and hours
and has failed to find an answer.
I patted your back and held you close,
as if by holding you tight,
tighter,
I could leach this ashy pain
from your heart,
from yours,
to mine
because the unfathomable anguish
in your eyes dropped my heart
into my stomach,
acid eroding,
burning.
You squared your shoulders,
trying to be a man,
tears sitting gently on the edges
of your eyes,
waiting to stand and roll
down your face,
and I wondered
how many times you’d blinked them away today.
“Do you have a guestbook?”
youasked,
and I wished I had a thousand
to give to you,
to end your searching
on this cold, snowswept January day,
so you could go home
to your family
and stop being brave.
For the last time,
the big brother takes care
of his little brother,
a guestbook
for baby brother’s funeral,
baby brother,
aged sixteen
or seventeen,
big smile.
Found by his father,
his life ended with the old year.
I hugged you again,
aching with you
heartbeat for heartbeat–
it was the only thing I could give,
I would have given all of myself,
if I knew how.
You smiled again,
brave, shattered smile,
dark, puppy dog eyes filled
with a nameless new kind of hurt,
voice low and holding steady–
just barely, for now.
Your shoulders squared again,
and you were gone,
head bowed against the wind
and the emptiness
of the world without
your little brother,
aged sixteen
or seventeen,
big smile.
**
RIP Colin. You will be so missed.
The Wanderer 