April 8
I would have called you today
and it would have been usual
the houses, the tenants, the things you did that I should never do
have you heard from your brother?
he’s fine
ask him to call
a silence would follow, a deep hollow silence that is now a labyrinth I go into in search of you
are you ok son?
I am four, scaling your lap like a mountain, it’s dark, in the balcony
you are telling me a story that you will tell the others, yet to be born
and I fall asleep with my head on your chest
Demis Roussos sings to us in the living room
I still carry your lump, and the tears I’ve saved for a
rainy day
numbed. A ceremony to unceremoniously end our ritual
be strong, these many people said
and my mind drifted to a day I was on way bigger shoulders
giggling to breathlessness with the joy of a little boy, upside down as you held me by my legs
knowing what you were about to do
long live the king, you shouted as you threw me in
deep end of the swimming pool.
but I am not you, pater.
You were my king, and you’ve gone.
