It’s been three years and I’m still surprised by your absence.
I’ll never forget that morning. Being woken up by my ex-boyfriend and asked if I knew what happened.
We hope you know we haven’t forgotten you. Or your smile. Or your laugh.
Rest peacefully, you beautiful soul.
We love you very, very much Rebecca.
I leave this poem here because it says what most of us wish we could have said.
Unsent Message To My Brother In His Pain
— Leon Stokesbury
Please do not die now. Listen.
Yesterday, storm clouds rolled
out of the west like thick muscles.
Lightning bloomed. Such a sideshow
of colors. You should have seen it.
A woman watched with me, then we slept.
Then, when I woke first, I saw
in her face that rest is possible.
The sky, it suddenly seems
important to tell you, the sky
was pink as a shell. Listen
to me. People orbit the moon now.
They must look like flies around
Fatty Arbuckle’s head, that new
and that strange. My fellow American,
I bought a French cookbook. In it
are hundred and hundreds of recipes.
If you come to see me, I shit you not,
we will cook with wine. Listen
to me. Listen to me, my brother,
please don’t go. Take a later flight,
a later train. Another look around.
Until next time,