Postcards From No Man's Land
Paper Flowers
I went to your funeral because you died. I wore a suit that was too big, and shiny black shoes that were too tight. I watched them carry your casket up to the front, but I knew you weren't in it. Gerard was in it, but you weren't. The brother I knew had been alive, as bright as the color on the end of his brush. My brother was an angel in disguise; you had wings and my blood in your veins. That guy in the casket was just a body in a suit, no soul at all.
There were flowers. Real flowers that smelled too sweet for death. They were the mask on your face. They were a mockery; nothing is beautiful about your brother dying. You would have wanted flowers of black and white. You would have wanted paper flowers and someone to dance upon your casket.
Nobody listened to me.
Frank was there. You knew him. He knew us back when we were us because you weren't dead. He wore make-up to your funeral. You would have liked to have seen him all painted up. He looked like a porcelain china doll from some horror story. You would have liked that. You were into those sorts of things.
That kid Frank is a pretty cool guy, Mikes. You should invite him over sometime so we can listen to music or something.
At the time it upset me that you were trying to get me interested in other guys. You knew I only wanted you. Now I know. I think you just wanted me to have a friend for when you left.
I couldn't bring myself to cry. What could tears do to bring you back? Nothing. They could do nothing because you were gone to some other place, and I can't get there from here.
The eulogy was a lie, I can tell you that. The talked about how good a boy you were. You were never a good boy. Good boys didn't take pills that made them write poetry about Greek gods and murder. Good boys didn't connect themselves with Oedipus, who fucked his mother and killed his father. Good boys went to Church instead of masturbating under their sheets on Sunday morning. You weren't a good boy.
You were my brother.
The thing is, I wasn't a good boy either. Sunday mornings it was your face behind my closed eyes. I was a selfish boy. I saw your soul, and I tucked it inside of me so that you couldn't leave me entirely. Your body was in that casket, but I made sure your soul was in me. I would not let you go.
At your grave, I planted paper flowers.
There were flowers. Real flowers that smelled too sweet for death. They were the mask on your face. They were a mockery; nothing is beautiful about your brother dying. You would have wanted flowers of black and white. You would have wanted paper flowers and someone to dance upon your casket.
Nobody listened to me.
Frank was there. You knew him. He knew us back when we were us because you weren't dead. He wore make-up to your funeral. You would have liked to have seen him all painted up. He looked like a porcelain china doll from some horror story. You would have liked that. You were into those sorts of things.
That kid Frank is a pretty cool guy, Mikes. You should invite him over sometime so we can listen to music or something.
At the time it upset me that you were trying to get me interested in other guys. You knew I only wanted you. Now I know. I think you just wanted me to have a friend for when you left.
I couldn't bring myself to cry. What could tears do to bring you back? Nothing. They could do nothing because you were gone to some other place, and I can't get there from here.
The eulogy was a lie, I can tell you that. The talked about how good a boy you were. You were never a good boy. Good boys didn't take pills that made them write poetry about Greek gods and murder. Good boys didn't connect themselves with Oedipus, who fucked his mother and killed his father. Good boys went to Church instead of masturbating under their sheets on Sunday morning. You weren't a good boy.
You were my brother.
The thing is, I wasn't a good boy either. Sunday mornings it was your face behind my closed eyes. I was a selfish boy. I saw your soul, and I tucked it inside of me so that you couldn't leave me entirely. Your body was in that casket, but I made sure your soul was in me. I would not let you go.
At your grave, I planted paper flowers.