A poem

Image for post
Image for post
Source: Fey Martin

We gathered to bury you.
dearest
Have you died too soon?
What does that matter?
You died.

I am guarded.
my brother and sister
standing watch
on either side, each clasping
my chapped hands.

we gathered to bury you

watch the bored pastor
his frigid, bloodless palms
frozen to his tattered Bible
How many eulogies
has he written?

has he already written mine?

My brother and sister are failures.
They should have guarded you.

My parents hardly care.
They dressed us
in fresh mourning suits and skirts
crinkled, scratching,
like submissive paper dolls.

we gathered to bury you

our arms outstretched
craning handfuls of soil
sprinkling your strewn corpse
shipped in slick mahogany

I am a failure.
I wish I was your brother.

you have been buried by me

Born and raised in CA. Film, literature, music, poetry, mostly gay/queer/GSM topics. Stick around if I haven’t bored you yet.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store