The Guide
I couldn’t trust the honesty in your face as you departed this world for the next,
telling me that this was my
1942
was the year my father died,
while so many people became alive again
he died and we wept and
the priest took us by the hand
and his were as weathered as stones
and he told us not to worry
for he was “in a better
place”. I knew this was a lie so
I wrote it down in a note book where
I now have every lie I’ve ever heard.
“I’ll be okay”
“Your mother loves you”
“You’re completely normal”
and now the most recent entry is
a drawing of your face with the blackened
bullet hole between your eyes
which you, my favorite brother,
got in return for
refusing to let my father’s honor be tarnished.
The last thing I write before I
toss the book out onto the street for someone
else to find and learn from is
“Fairness exists”
This poem was stylized after Albert Goldbarth’s Sentimental