Brandon

(Drugs only kill those who never realize their potential;
never take methodone, kids; and if you should choose to shoot
yourself, please do so cleanly and save us all the anguish)

I was watching that freestyle you recorded of yourself
wearing a dunce cap of your own fashioning, making fun of rapping,
and could not help but laugh a little at your exaggerated mannerisms.

You were always a child at heart-
late twenties prankster, faithful son,
beloved uncle, coveted nephew,
wise brother, trusted friend.

You showed me how the funniest people were often miserable,
and that they had to cloak their wounds with jokes.
And you had jokes for days.
For daze. And years.

I remember when your mother passed two septembers back,
knowing I couldn't stand swallowing a similar pill,
seeing how it had slit your throat from the inside,
as you seemed to choke on your own saline blood at the funeral,

trying to hold back, wanting so bad to let go.
Down that slippery slope,
some pangs are residual, still.

Over the summer I saw you had been taking it badly,
mostly with bumps to the head,
and a few downers every now and then.
Then you got into the hard shit,
which i neither condoned nor condemned,
but you could hear the brokenness in your songs.

Your sister in law said she and your nephew and niece
planted a Magnolia tree in their yard
so the kids could remember your smile every summer when it bloomed.

The saddest part is
you told us you would die just like you did-
chasing your dreams-
but none of us wanted to believe you.
Now it’s about to be summer and I just wanted you to know
that we still miss you down here.