i don’t really know the blood
which flows in his veins
(though we happen to share
the same last name).
and faced with the facts,
i can’t imagine his life
was ever really simple
(despite his constant
claims) as one by one
those who were closest
drifted away
without a single
look back.
i unpack a box
full of polaroids
from his bedroom closet,
and thumbing through them
one by one their faded,
blurred and out-of-focus
memories drag me back
to forgotten days
as a handful of frozen
smiles are unable
to rekindle
any warmth.
and emptying his home,
i’m left wondering
what’s next for him
saddled with a memory
long since faded
and pretending
it’s alright
as his world shrinks
to an antiseptic room
when there’s nothing
left to fix.
