A poem

Source: Fey Martin

We gathered to bury you.
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

Aspiring novelist and amateur poet and op-ed writer on gay/queer/GSM topics. CA —> MN —> ? Stick around if I haven’t bored you yet.

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