My youngest brother committed suicide not too long ago, and I’m still trying to absorb what happened. Sometimes I feel sad. Sometimes I feel angry (please reference the poem I posted earlier “Now That It Has Seeped Into Us,”) although I find my anger dissipating. Sometimes I feel lonely (please reference the next posting). Sometimes I feel as if I need bitter humor:
After Your Sudden Departure…
I dreamed you drove your hot-fast Fiat into Hades,
blasted past the toll booth over the new bridge,
where boat-keeper Charon shook his bony fists
as your turbos howled over the River Styx,
then you stomped the gas when spotting Cereberus
the gate-keeper, its three dog-monster heads
snapping too late as you sped beneath its gut,
to where the damned suicides drift, in Hell’s seventh ring.
Then you just had to disturb the shades’ self-pity
throwing the Fiat into a power-slide,
when Dante did then admire the color of your car:
of blood and Ferraris and open scars.