Spare Torrential Rain, Unfinished

7/29/24

I wish you could see how beautiful my brothers were to me.
How gentle my father became in your wake.
The orphan your friends see in the pit of my eyes.
I stole your perfume, and the locket from your empty security deposit.
The woman at the bank had your hair and said,
“The fare is free.” So I took you around my neck
and feel you with me everytime I hit the weeds
in place of the pain that brings me to your grave.

I wish you could see how low I sunk into the screen,
hours revolved around the melting ‘Casso-clock.
I used to lock the door from the world,
afraid I’d be alone until someone knocked
but now, when they do, I unravel the window latch
and run the other way, so I can be comfortable
in the place of the pain that brings me to your grave.

I wish you could see when I told daddy I felt estranged
on father’s day, because I love to feel the problems I make
like maturity libra scales on my skin I weaponize
to make my insecurities seem prophesized
like Yonce, Swift, Dylan, and Dre,

I need the next one to be me,

so all the love God took to the sky
come raining torrentially dry to fake-tear-duct days
in place of the pain that brings me to your grave.

I wish you could see the rain once again,
and the rainbows, and the fires in LA,
to Wisconsin dead-grass grays on a warm sunset fade.
I wish you could see the effects one life can sacrifice
from pure memory onto ink-pained watercolor paints.
Even if its everything in place of the pain that brings me to your grave
on this day of torrential rain, I wish
you could know it will all be okay.