Blog

In honor of Memorial Day,  more poems by Brendan’s friend, Amy Sands.

litany of a friendship

i know the divot at the base of your neck

the fine creased line between your eyebrows

how wisps of hair tuft behind your ears

the bow of your legs, your lion's lope

the curve of your back, like a lowercase b

your middle name, your medical history

your older brother, your old dog

your street, your car, the slope of your walkway

where the glasses are in your kitchen

plays you were in, teams you played on

books you love, music, movies, girls

your ethic, your passion, your humor

your many laughs, your chauvinism

your naivete, your knowledge, ever-expanding

the crooks of your ocean eyes, questions, affirmation

the elastic smile of your rubber band lips

your sincerity, even in manipulation

your brilliance, innate

the way you eat, hunched, head cocked, lunging

express frustration, dipping your head, pulling air through your teeth

why would you always twist the pen caps back?

How you still sometimes talk like you have rrrrrocks in your mouth

how you smoke, how you drink,

how you walk out of a room, broad shouldered

how you dance like a strobe, hands cutting

your perception of who I am, accurate

i can't think of anything i haven't told you

i can't think of times you haven't come through, eventually

you played trumpet in band

you're alive, you're alive, you're alive

 

==============================

 

the waters, the way

 

the first christmas you were diagnosed i was frantic
and beat against the waters, i swore we’d never let you die
you did the same, pushing your cane into the ground
and step by step you came back to us
in that time, we became old, minds of the elderly
gracious just to sit on a bench together
content to be in the sun, celebrating the seasons
i was happy to rub your feet, to watch your twitching toes
thats not the way it should be, for twenty year olds
but thats how it was for us
the second time around was different
we could feel the swell around our ankles, pulling us down
you veered off course outside the diner
you asked me to come inside and keep you company
we read your poems, you said you were scared
you asked me to pray for you, i said i always do
we were beating against the waters again
not frantically as before, but in a slow, determined way
but this time you were dragged under
the water poured into your mouth, you couldn’t speak
one morning i went and read with you
there was a word we didn’t know, lychees
and we tried to figure it out from the context
after reading the sentence a few times over
i looked up and said
“bren, i think its a kind of flower”
you looked up and said
“yes… thats what it means”
i didnt know that was the last thing you’d say to me

but that night i had a dream
that i walked into your room and you were in bed
and your face lit up, your features dancing together
and we talked for so long, just like we used to
and at the end we were silent, and i climbed up next to you
hugged you, and as we turned to the doorway
all our friends walked in
i love that dream
and now whenever i miss you i try and think back to it
our friendship seems somehow condensed in that subconscious moment
and i find it can bring me peace
thats not how it should be, for twenty year olds
but thats how it was for us

 

========================

max and brendan

i remember walking in on you guys

(no, not that kind of walking in!)

i remember walking in on you guys

 

my two blondies, one short and sturdy

legs kicked up on the wood-latched cube

the other long and lanky, projecting from the chair

that voice i could hear from outside the house

i remember walking in on you guys

 

TV lights crowning two heads tipped together

i remember walking in on you guys

 

and, creepy though it may be, i have to admit

that my favorite moment was not the instant

when i crossed the threshold and laughed;

watching you two measure how comfortable you were

versus the effort it would require to stand up and hug me

 

no, my favorite moment was the few steps beforehand

hearing the ebb and flow of your conversation

his two quick punches and your roll of laughter

 

and i could never make out what you were saying

and i never lingered to try, i was too eager to join in

but the rhythm of those moments was always a homecoming

in between parking the car and crashing the couch

walkway, steps, doorknob, living room, what are we watching?

and that prelude of back and forth, ever present

 

his two quick punches and your roll of laughter

i remember walking in on you guys.

 

====================

the things we shared

the things we shared are now precious to me
before they were rough prints, plans
for an evolving structure
expendable because after all
we knew the things that mattered would stick

and they did, like the center of a cyclone
calm and steadfast, churning off all excess
the things that mattered stuck
our friendship and belief in one another
all else wheeled around this

and so i rambled through our time together
tossed away days, conversations, running jokes
and you did the same, of course
when you expect a lifetime with someone
you can’t stockpile everything, you just have to trust

that the things that matter will stick

ah, but now that you’re gone
the things we shared are so precious to me
because they have to support your absence
the blueprints we laid out for the future
must now reconstruct the past

i’ve been hunting like mad through our time together
trying to pin down every expression, exchange
the things we shared are so precious to me
and yet it all seems to skitter out of my reach
how can so many years yield so little?

because, of course, the only thing that really stuck
was the thing that really mattered
our friendship and belief in one another
and still it remains, calm and steadfast
the things we shared are so precious to me, and i know

that the things that matter will stick

 

by amy sands, 2010-2011