I see it in disjointed glimpses-
First, face down.
Next, you hung from our arms, as if from a
crucifix, when we attempted to right you.
Then, rolling eyes and arching contortions.
Finally, violent ventilations and vile vomit.
Handcuffs-they put you in handcuffs
for the slow-motion caravan to the hospital.
Restraints-they strapped you to the bed
in the emergency room.
And when they untied you,
you went fetal, and told me you wanted to
die.
You don't even remember, do you?
Sister was there
to confiscate the white rock in your pocket
and turn it loose in the hospital parking lot.
Sister went back
to wipe up the mushroom omelet
you had eaten for breakfast.
Sister picked you up
in the early morning and saw
the apologies in your eyes.
But in those quiet hours before I
drove back to the hospital,
I remembered ancient days of
snowmobiling, playing on old
farm equipment, ice-skating�
I realized that we are no longer those kids,
are we, Brother?
kmb 01/02
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