I want to write again, for Jonathan.

I used to write profuse amounts of poems, but since my brother, Jonathan, died in 2007, I’ve written barely a handful.  I want to write again, for him.  I still keep a pen and notepad by my bedside, as I have since I was 11 years old.  Here’s the first poem I wrote since the one I wrote on the airplane on my way to say goodbye to him:

As usual,
from evening springs surprises
that keep me awake
for longer than my
spirit can stand.

And I wait,
though I promised
never again.

I may be ready now
after so long a hesitation
to leave the constrictions
of a broken mind
ground bare from simple

It is time
to pick up
instruments that
cause this blood to
course father than
time will allow.

So I wait
to start again
with resignation
to the inevitable distractions
that empty the well.

As usual,
evening brings surprises.
The sun will rise
and with it, so will I.


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