deepundergroundpoetry.com
Letter From a Dead Man
~the obituary~
the news is old
but the pain of death
is new... again
you took all my options
for reconciliation,
swallowed them down
with cheap vodka
and finally got some sleep
my earliest memory of you
remains a dust cloud
of machine-gunned questions;
your round, 8-year old face
with eyes that were always
a little too frantic,
hands twisting into each other
while I gathered my timid words
to provide answers;
you never seemed to mind,
playing jump rope
with my patience
even then I had to
process your energy
in doses
and yet, I instantly loved you -
a most authentic spirit
in a my world
of force-fed fairy tales,
though you hid that truth
in grandiose stories
meant to deflect
your eagerness to fit in,
and all that pain at knowing
you never would;
I championed your cause
to third-grade bullies,
taking the brunt of their ire
while you ran to safety
a pattern that became
the basis
of our friendship
well into our forties
*
*
*
~the letter~
a plain white envelope
tumbles wildly
from my mailbox,
as if your words contain
the hyperactive ghosts
of your unwavering need
to move freely and often;
my name, written carefully
in that same elementary scrawl
I’d still know anywhere
reaches out and twists my gut
I should still be able to call you,
we could work all this out
the way we always did -
with razor-blade sarcasm
and a heaping dose
of gracefully overlooking
each, our broken parts
but I can’t,
and the acceptance
of that realization
weighs a fair ton
in my lungs
and now, all I have
are your last words to me
after I sacrificed you
to save myself -
my turn, at last
wether they forgive
or condemn me,
I’m not sure which
I hope for most
one day when I’m ready,
I’ll pour myself two fingers
of that horrid clear hangover
you declared the good stuff
and I’ll let you speak your peace;
until then...
rest well, my oldest friend
the news is old
but the pain of death
is new... again
you took all my options
for reconciliation,
swallowed them down
with cheap vodka
and finally got some sleep
my earliest memory of you
remains a dust cloud
of machine-gunned questions;
your round, 8-year old face
with eyes that were always
a little too frantic,
hands twisting into each other
while I gathered my timid words
to provide answers;
you never seemed to mind,
playing jump rope
with my patience
even then I had to
process your energy
in doses
and yet, I instantly loved you -
a most authentic spirit
in a my world
of force-fed fairy tales,
though you hid that truth
in grandiose stories
meant to deflect
your eagerness to fit in,
and all that pain at knowing
you never would;
I championed your cause
to third-grade bullies,
taking the brunt of their ire
while you ran to safety
a pattern that became
the basis
of our friendship
well into our forties
*
*
*
~the letter~
a plain white envelope
tumbles wildly
from my mailbox,
as if your words contain
the hyperactive ghosts
of your unwavering need
to move freely and often;
my name, written carefully
in that same elementary scrawl
I’d still know anywhere
reaches out and twists my gut
I should still be able to call you,
we could work all this out
the way we always did -
with razor-blade sarcasm
and a heaping dose
of gracefully overlooking
each, our broken parts
but I can’t,
and the acceptance
of that realization
weighs a fair ton
in my lungs
and now, all I have
are your last words to me
after I sacrificed you
to save myself -
my turn, at last
wether they forgive
or condemn me,
I’m not sure which
I hope for most
one day when I’m ready,
I’ll pour myself two fingers
of that horrid clear hangover
you declared the good stuff
and I’ll let you speak your peace;
until then...
rest well, my oldest friend
Published 18th Oct 2020
Author's Note
May you find peace, Ramon A Stribling III aka Trey 5/30/73 - 08/13/20, my childhood friend ♥️.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 11
reading list entries 6
comments 7
reads 295
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
18th Oct 2020 7:10am
18th Oct 2020 9:07am
Anonymous
18th Oct 2020 3:48pm
Sorry to hear of your loss. You created a wonderful tribute. A most amazing Stanza is #3, these lines especially:
"you never seemed to mind,
playing jump rope
with my patience"
"you never seemed to mind,
playing jump rope
with my patience"
18th Oct 2020 4:49pm
I am so deeply sorry for your loss, Luna. There remains this vast emptiness in our spirits when kindred returns home without us. May the comfort and grace you receive throughout this painful experience be gently replaced and exceed the love you both shared here on earth.
Watch for the signs. . .
Beautiful tributary verse.
Watch for the signs. . .
Beautiful tributary verse.
18th Oct 2020 7:37pm
I'm sorry for your loss. This piece is really artful, and the two sections balance each other beautifully.
18th Oct 2020 8:05pm
I love the way you quick fire the metaphors, but it still has a slow, controlled flow, the construction, to me, is irregular beautiful. I tend to rotate stanzas between haptics, milieu and dialogue evenly, but you have done so in a rather artfully rendered and unpredictably organic flow. The vulnerable emotion is captivating. Beautifully elucidated. I join the others in condoling your loss sweetheart.
22nd Jul 2023 8:33pm
