I waited for your name to flash across my screen that morning.
But, it never did. You were too busy searching for a tree and
tying that rope into the most dreaded knot: the noose.
I went running, blowing off some steam
from the night before.
While you were scheming to blow me off, forever.
And when I came back, I was greeted at the door
by my grandmother, who took me by the hand
and mouthed ‘I’m so sorry’.
I collapsed, maybe how your lungs did.
And then dropped to the ground.
Why didn’t you?
Asphyxiated.
We both had something in common
for the very last time.
I watched your mom cry at the funeral
and your brother sit down several times, covering his face.
Never understanding how they made it.
And there I was looking down at the box
that secured your body,
delivering you into the unforgiving dirt.
I drove away pissed or maybe sad.
I can’t really remember how I felt.
I wanted to say dead.
But I knew it wasn’t the time or place.
