They drilled six holes
into you and deflated your lungs.
Strong lungs. The lungs of a man
who quit smoking when he was twenty-two and ran
on the elliptical for an hour every day
before work. They drilled six holes
into you and I watched you fall
for the first time. Eyes adjusted to that machine glow.
Watching P-Waves grow short and then tall, not even knowing
what P-waves are. That was the first time I saw you fall.
I would see more than I cared to that summer. Your bare ass
hanging out of a hospital gown, Your hands shaking
as they carried you out on a stretcher, the time
you could only make it up three stairs.
There was blood inside of you. Not where
it was supposed to be, but somewhere
in the middle. So I listened to Tunnel of Love. I remember
when I told you I hated Tunnel of Love. You said you loved
Tunnel of Love. So I listened to Tunnel of Love on the way home
and I cried. The way you cried
when you apologized, as if you could have done anything
about anything. It’s weird to see your hero
cry. Even weirder to hear your hero
died. If only for a second until
they shocked him back to life.
So I sat with you. The way you sat with me
in all those waiting rooms, every two years
when our family would get a little bigger. The way you sat with me
in a sold out Conseco Fieldhouse while we sang every
word and laughed at the drunk girl in front of us
throwing up in the aisle. The way you sat with me
in the car that day they showed that suicide
prevention video at school and you picked
me up because I couldn't stop my hands
from shaking. You sat with me.
So I sat with you.
I watched you fall the summer
before my senior year. Then I saw you
rise. Your hands
trembling. Your heart
racing. Your legs
shaking. But standing.
I watched you rise the winter
I interviewed for my first job. I watched
you rise. and I rose with you. The way
you've always risen for me.
