I have decorated this banner to honor my brother.
Our parents did not want his name used publicly
— from an unnamed child’s banner in the AIDS Memorial Quilt.
The boatpond, broken off, looks back at the sky.
I remember looking at you, X, this way,
taking in your red hair, your eyes’ light, and I miss you
so. I know,
you are you, and real, standing there in the doorway,
whether dead or whether living, real. — Then Y
said, “who will remember me three years after I die?
What is there for my eye
to read then?”
The lamb should not have given
He was so small. At the end, X, you were so small.
Playing with a stone
on your bedspread at the edge of the ocean.