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.

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