Poem #7: “AWAKE—”
Too much, too quiet, too deafening,
Too empty, too perpetual, too lost,
I touch his clothes, his shirts,
Each one a personality,
Each one a story that covered his heart;
Their arms sag, lifeless,
They don’t reach up over his head,
Or fill with his energy,
Or cover his life.
I open his briefcase, his artwork,
His designs pushed through pages.
I touch the impressions of his colored pencil strokes.
I look at his brother, he’s not laughing;
His chair, he’s not sitting;
His bed, he’s not sleeping;
His toothbrush, he’s not brushing;
His bike, he’s not riding;
His toys, he’s not playing;
His computer, he’s not working;
His books, he’s not reading;
His dried blueberries, he’s not eating.
TOO MUCH OF HIM HERE FOR HIM TO BE THERE.