My younger brother, Rick, died last week. I have been at a loss all week. I haven’t wanted to talk much about it to anyone, but I wrote this poem for his kids- to let them know that we will remember and hold onto to our memories, our realities, until it is time for us to relinquish the bond. Then, it will all be on them to remember. Maybe this poem will anchor our remembrances across a century. Listen to his favorite artist, Frank Zappa below.
Semper Frater Meus
(Always My Brother)
My brother was a sign painter.
Working class to the core.
My highest praise.
So smart.
So true.
We still have signs
he painted for us
and gilded frames of our initials.
Treasures from him
hanging on our front and back doors.
They live on; he lives on.
I remember
how he saved my life
and kept our house from burning down.
Ask me how.
I remember how he joined churches
because they had gymnasiums.
Ask me why.
I remember his favorite band
belting out “the black page.”
Ask me who.
I remember…
you remember…
we remember…
I owe him so much more
than remembrance.
I have never repaid that debt.
Nor can I now.
If I could it would be a promise in tidy screaming neon,
“I will pay attention.
I have a plan for my one dear life.
You have blazed a way.
Thank you.”
He would likely respond, ever the tradesman,
“That would cost too much.
Instead, take one blacked ink brush
and draft one perfect circle
on paper
and lay it on my grave.”
So sly.
Perfection is a debt I cannot repay,
but you know I will try, little brother.
For you,
I will try to signify.
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Terry — About this time last year I lost my older brother, and two years before, my younger brother. So only me, the sister, still lives, and the hole in the universe is felt as, at night, I search the stars for their shining twinkle as well as my son’s brilliant sparkle. A heartfelt sorry for your great loss. ~ Sheri
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My consolation to you. I am not alone yet. I have an older brother and a younger sister. And my three kids. But I find myself thinking about Linda Loman in “Death of a Salesman” who argues that ‘attention must be paid’. And then I am drawn to Mary Oliver’s “The Summer Day”. All these memories are like sprites in the night sky, unbidden and astonishing. Thanks for sharing your memories. Thanks so much.
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This is a lovely, evocative poem of memory and remembering.
Kevin
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Yes, it seems I run up to the very edge of the cliff of ‘getting it’ but then, I do not make that leap into the abyss.
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Attention must be paid. All of us become Willy Loman in the end as well as Mary Oliver in the field with sugar in her hand. If we are lucky, we get to choose.
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The poem is a wonderful testimony to a life well lived.
I’m one of nine brothers and sisters from two wives of my Dad. I’m the second to the youngest at 75, going on 76, so we’ve already lost three siblings. I’ve never honored a poem like you have shared. Thank you for your continuing example.
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We all do what we can with what we can. I honor you and your work almost every day though you may not know it. My praise is in the air.