You always remembered :
One time, in passing, I told you
“Irises are my favourite flower”.
Every year on my birthday,
an Iris from your garden.

One year, a drawing of an eyeball.
“Here’s your birthday iris,” you’d written.

Sometimes – often – I hardly understood
what you were talking about.
You gave my meagre musical talent
far more credit
than anyone ought to have.

As a housewarming gift, you
visited, and brought an ice bucket
and a purple onion flower, and a clipping
from a green and purple vine from your house.
The bucket from the antiques mall you raved about
had penguins on it
and reminded you of me.

You said the onion flower would take root
if I planted it, but I murdered it.
The vine floundered.

Goddamn it, I’m going to miss you, David.
I could have done more for you
I should have done more for you
I would have done more for you.
I’m sorry.






2 responses to “David”

  1. Kurt Terfloth Avatar

    My host was a skinny, quick and quirky young man
    old far before his time
    a British aristocrat in golfers cap and cardigan, forever fidgeting, keen eyes darting about
    animatedly and eloquently ranting about arts and culture and whatnot
    seeking to bring dreams and feelings to life
    immensely enjoying himself chatting chivalrously
    while being flirty and ribald and cad
    a most interesting fellow, kind and catty, grumpy and joyful – a twinkle in his eye
    a genuineness to his character.

    I can never match the pace, eloquence, or consideration of my host
    or match his tastes to my own
    they were so distinctly his, so many things were just “him”.
    Alas, I did not spend the time I could have
    though I was clearly welcome
    for there was a common truth between us
    a need to create and express
    seething with mad dreams and love and sorrow
    a needing to be found and tended in someone’s garden
    a kindness and sharpness to be shared.

    I am glad that my host, my friend, finally found love and fatherhood
    but I cry for the loss of unfinished smiles and quips, conversations and dreams
    there was so much more to be shared
    I grieve the loss of potential.
    Perhaps this Spring I will make my garden beautiful
    and give it the attention it deserves
    and have friends over and show them the courtesy of my host
    to give them the attention they deserve
    to take precious things less for granted
    to share ideas small and grand
    and create and share quickly while I still can.

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i make squee noises when you tell me stuff.

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