Little Brother, Still Gone

When he left, he escaped so suddenly
like a fish on a hook that falls off when reeled in
but it was also so very slowly
as an iron lung breathes and heaves,
his cerebrum already fried.

It was such a fucking relief
like when a toothache stops throbbing,
or a freshly cauterized wound.
As the youngest one died,
we screamed silently into the void.

It was both truth and untruth
when in the hospital my mother
said of her braindead boy
At least now I know he’s safe,
his angst and danger gone for good.

I said I cannot fathom he is gone
and I still can’t a dozen years on.
My little brother sings to me at dusk,
the voice of a drunken angel
harmonizing with the moon.

The gift of his gut-wrenching exit
is a refrain I hum when I’m scared —
this is it, this is it, this is it.
Now or never, even if a mistake,
just jump right into the lake.