Thursday, December 18, 2008

poem 8/30: dreams of Paris

God forbid the day I meet you is at your funeral
heard your name only one handful of times
pieced together my own vision of you
army man with a country accent
and even though you hate him, i'm sure you look like daddy
but you could be none of those things
what i am sure of
is the fact that we're blood
my oldest brother
product of a rolling stone and a young mind looking for affection in the wrong places
now a known unknown
find myself wondering if i have any nieces and nephews
living in the same city as me
missing out on play fights
real fights
and "boy" talks
you were supposed to teach me what you know about the birds and the bees
tease me when i peaked puberty
be the threatening looming presence at the seeing off of my first prom
but your mother planted a seed
and you nursed it on your own
hatred for father spawned your eventual disappearance
it is I who wants to know you
I am a product as well
not the problem
do not run from me.
there's still time
be the threatening looming presence to the man I want to marry
give the piggyback rides you owe me to your future niece and nephew
be my blood
all i need is an introduction
at least a genuine mental picture
curious to see who you look like
whose habits you've picked up
lefty or righty
blue or white collar
so many things to learn about someone who should be here
my brother
a complete stranger.

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