epitaph

by
moriba sababu

I cried when my father died…
but I did not cry for my brother…
my father died asleep in bed
maybe even with dreams swimming in his head…
my brother died awake on his feet
without a heart… without a thought…
an ugly sneer stamped across his face

I could not… could not cry for my brother…

I cried when my father died… but did not weep…
it was a soft agonizing bitter-sweet cry
that rocked the foundation of my soul
and left me old… weak… alone…
at death he was not half the man he was while on his feet
but he was going home…
he was going home…

I did not weep when my brother died… I could not cry…

for at death he was twice the man he was while awake
and for him there can be no home…
although not alone…
none saw me cry when my father died
I wanted the world to see my strength…
the might of a son
who could stand and look with indifference
at a face waxed cold…
yet inside I cried a miserable cry…
for my tears were trapped within…
and although I rocked with emotion…
my body was still

I did not… did not cry for my brother…

my emotions were still my own
when my brother died to me…
but my actions I gave to the world to see…
I cried when my father died… but was happy…
for he left in the day
when the light of the sun was in its glory
and birds were singing in the trees…

but I could not… could not cry for my brother…

for he left at night…
when darkness was upon the face of the deep
and insects came out of their holes to weep…
I cried when my father died… but not a loud cry…
I could not cry for my brother… not even a quiet cry…
I think of my father now and then
although I do not go to visit what we left for him again…
my brother… I do not think of at all
now I cannot even remember what he’s called…

I really cried when my father died
but I did not cry… could not cry… for my brother…

© Ralph Boothe
–/–/1980