Your coming from beyond the grave

The grave with bars interred.
your life was taken, just removed.  
my prayers with longings more than words
to meet again, stand in your shoes.
 
My brother Roger was taken by suicide eight years ago, before covid was invented, before the epidemic of Woke generations mental trauma. A hard-working man, but always an enigma. Artist, collector, avid car boot sale attendee, the main Manchester to Coventry line was closed at rush hour to remove his body from the line, hit by the 08:10 express.
 
Each year we lay the table with an empty seat, light black candles, turn the sideboard into an altar of photographs, our hall a shrine to his art, so many question without answers, eat a vindaloo and angel cake.
 Strewn with the bouquet of memories that never die, the welcome mat hovered, an anticipation of his sprit, welcoming the chill of a presence from beyond our earthly bounds.
To leave without a note, the presents unopened around the Christmas tree, desperation that each family member and friend a smattering of guilt for the emotional void
It’s a long journey back according to Mexican folk law.
 
no longer hidden in plain sight.
 breeds like cancers cells, that vacancy
looking for a return ticket
that depression denied
 
 coldness, conceals longings  
but mortals hold the keys  
November’s windows are mostly
fully booked
 
needs and desires, ladders and shortcuts  
clean hovered welcome
the purr of the cat
 
Mariachi band a little off key
disable the deadness!
 just temporarily