On the Day Your Brother Attempts Suicide for the Third Time, the Second Person, Part Two
You call one minute after your last text and I answer,
annoyed by this eternal vibration at two frequencies
of a phone I sometimes leave inside when I am out.
What are you doingggggg? Are you okay? Are we cool?
Questions I sometimes ask too, but not today when you call
to say your brother took pills, cut himself with a coffee mug,
and you don’t love him. At least your other brother Marty
really did it, didn’t ask for help in dumb language.
Snuggled in your bed we watched My Strange Addiction,
a woman eating pottery, laughed at cutting poems,
made love without sex. You lament: if only I had someone
to share these daily dramas, to go grocery shopping.
Like you I want – what I cannot have: the security to be alone,
with no one to call, to text, to restore.