My brother Greg
has died.
the telephone shrill
burst into our bedroom
me on my back groggy
leapt out leg over the edge
knew
have known for weeks
this was going to happen very soon
Young Boon’s wailing
“he won’t wake up”
sobbing “what should I do?”
and me, the only one she could reach
dumbfounded
for once
unable to offer advice
go in there and sit next to him,
i managed,
tell him you love him
he might be able to hear you.
The string of atoms
obligingly synchronized
the unique
him
gathered since his
springing into being
inside my mother
have now begun to scatter
to take on new identities
different bosses
to gather for and form up
and constitute.
My heart pounds
his brain dead
his girls, 12 and 14 and 19
Michelle and Kristina and Jenn, numb
RIP Daddy, I love you, they write
while particles
which have existed
since unfathomable billions
morph
emotionless again.
Tom gave me a phone number
Lynn hung up on me
Anthony called
Christopher cried
Phillip thanked me for caring
Jaisan his first daughter, wise, graceful, spoke
Bernadette and I, we had a conversation
Mary left
I sit here
understanding just how much I can’t pick up the phone
and hear his voice.
Thursday he sounded so tired
so confused
he was driving his girls home from school (!)
when he should have been in bed
he soldiered on
like the failure of his organs
was a temporary
painful, inconvenience
i know he hoped
however well he hid it
that
someday
one of us
would give him
one of our 23 kidneys
he’s our brother, after all
Easy to say,
I’m a Type A; he’s an O
we don’t all match
but now
there’s only 13 of us left
us kids
we let him go
let him
die
squandered that generous chance
which would have stretched us
stronger, closer
he’s silent
all I can do is make sure
in my heart
that it never happen again
Gregory Paul Hicks
let me say his name
