THERE’S A FAMILIAR FACE BENEATH THE FLOORBOARDS

Poem i wrote about my brother and my father’s death. enjoy!

There’s a familiar face beneath the floorboards
                    The beginning of June is
                    a prologue to 
                    an annual funeral, 
because on the 26th a 
yearly eulogy is given
in honor of a boy still alive
 boy, not man, since
he never aged past six
and I am still three,
It’s November now 
and we are standing over 
the warm body in
our living room wondering
what we might have done
wrong, and what we could
do with the face melting
into our carpet, what
we could do with
the dying light sinking
into our floor
         

         the imprint in the shag
         Is something we tend to find
         in our own faces,
in my nose and in the 
back of my brother’s eyes,
in the ginger of his beard
and around the protrusion
of my chin,
so i stand very still
and i try to look away,
because I’m afraid of 
Staring static in the
face, I’m afraid of feeling
the cold of something so
motionless,

        but I’ll try and
          reach out and 
           take his hand
if I’m able,
I’ll walk him to
the bus stop to 
wait for the 
greyhound that’ll 
take him to 
now, to today,
and i’ll only hope 
he’ll board.