My friend is sick in his spirit,
his wounded soul
his sorrowful heart
His brothers have spoken to me
they beg me each day,
please seek mercy
Don’t be like your mother
So I take him back into the house
where his only job is forgetting
still, he will not eat
or play with the children who call to him,
begging for silly verses and fables
and tales of imaginary
heroes
All he does is weep while he works
polishing his mind to clean it,
trying to forget
while he polishes the smooth wood
of my mother’s carved mahogany furniture
Now he has a hat and shoes,
the ones I’ve given him
a hat and shoes just like
the ones he invented
I must have dreamed them out loud, he says
my voice
made them real