April 8
I would have called you today
and it would have been our usual
are you well, it’s been good, 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 then 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 up your lap like a mountain, it’s dark, in the balcony
you are telling me that story that you will tell the others, who had not yet been born
and I fall asleep with my head on your chest
Demis Roussos is singing to us from the living room record player
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 the
deep end of the swimming pool.
but I am not you, pater.
You were my king, and now you’ve gone.
NOORMOHAMED 