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.