nothing personal

We were driving to your funeral
and our father was not crying
because he has a way
of tying ribbons around grief.
It was the year we learned
the piercing that prefaces the blood
holds the most delicate of darknesses.
Then it was the year we opened
all our faucets & waited for the sea
to bleed to death. Then it was the year
we set fire to your mitt. Then, suddenly
the year we started to believe
every thorn was just a bridge.
Then the year all we talked about
was boxing. Then the year
my stomach hurt all year, & then
the year no one spoke of you.

If there were an antonym for suicide
we could all choose when to be born.
I would have been born after that day
so I could not remember you.
So my fingers would stop pointing
at all the things that aren’t there.

  1999 by Kevin A. González

Love by Pablo Neruda

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming 
Flowers I ache from the perfumes of spring. 
I have forgotten your face, I no longer 
Remember your hands; how did your lips 
Feel on mine? 

Because of you, I love the white statues 
Drowsing in the parks, the white statues that 
Have neither voice nor sight. 

I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; 
I have forgotten your eyes. 

Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to 
My vague memory of you. I live with pain 
That is like a wound; if you touch me, you will 
Make to me an irreperable harm. 

Your caresses enfold me, like climbing 
Vines on melancholy walls. 

I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to 
Glimpse you in every window. 

Because of you, the heady perfumes of 
Summer pain me; because of you, I again 
Seek out the signs that precipitate desires: 
Shooting stars, falling objects.