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    AC Benus
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

The Great Mirror of Same-Sex Love - Poetry - 28. …hear him say…

**warnings for HIV-related death topics, and heavy-hitting verse**

.

How to Watch your Brother Die

 

When the call comes, be calm.

Say to your wife, “My brother is dying. I have to fly

to California.”

Try not to be shocked that he already looks like

a cadaver.

Say to the young man sitting by your brother’s side,

“I’m his brother.”

Try not to be shocked when the young man says,

“I’m his lover. Thanks for coming.”

 

Listen to the doctor with a steel face on.

Sign the necessary forms.

Tell the doctor you will take care of everything.

Wonder why doctors are so remote.

 

Watch the lover’s eyes as they stare into

your brother’s eyes as they stare into

space.

Wonder what they see there.

Remember the time he was jealous and

opened your eyebrow with a sharp stick.

Forgive him out loud

even if he can’t

understand you.

Realize the scar will be

all that’s left of him.

 

Over coffee in the hospital cafeteria

say to the lover, “You’re an extremely good-looking

young man.”

Hear him say,

“I never thought I was good looking enough to

deserve your brother.”

 

Watch the tears well up in his eyes. Say,

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what it means to be

the lover of another man.”

Hear him say,

“It’s just like a wife, only the commitment is

deeper because the odds against you are so much

greater.”

Say nothing, but

take his hand like a brother’s.

 

Drive to Mexico for unproven drugs that might

help him live longer.

Explain what they are to the border guard.

Fill with rage when he informs you,

“You can’t bring those across.”

Begin to grow loud.

Feel the lover’s hand on your arm,

restraining you. See in the guard’s eye

how much a man can hate another man.

Say to the lover, “How can you stand it?”

Hear him say, “You get used to it.”

Think of one of your children getting used to

another man’s hatred.

 

Call your wife on the telephone. Tell her,

“He hasn’t much time.

I’ll be home soon.” Before you hang up say,

“How could anyone’s commitment be deeper than

a husband and wife?” Hear her say,

“Please, I don’t want to know all the details.”

 

When he slips into an irrevocable coma,

hold his lover in your arms while he sobs,

no longer strong. Wonder how much longer

you will be able to be strong.

Feel how it feels to hold a man in your arms

whose arms are used to holding men.

Offer God anything to bring your brother back.

Know you have nothing God could possibly want.

Curse God, but do not

abandon Him.

 

Stare at the face of the funeral director

when he tells you he will not

embalm the body for fear of

contamination. Let him see in your eyes

how much a man can hate another man.

 

Stand beside a casket covered in flowers,

white flowers. Say,

“Thank you for coming” to each of several hundred

men who file past in tears, some of them

holding hands.

Know that your brother’s life

was not what you imagined. Overhear two

mourners say, “I wonder who’ll be next.”

 

Arrange to take an early flight home.

His lover will drive you to the airport.

When your flight is announced say,

awkwardly, “If I can do anything, please

let me know.” Do not flinch when he says,

“Forgive yourself for not wanting to know him

after he told you. He did.”

Stop and let it soak in. Say,

“He forgave me, or he knew himself?”

“Both,” the lover will say, not knowing what else

to do. Hold him like a brother while he

kisses you on the cheek. Think that

you haven’t been kissed by a man since

your father died. Think,

 

“This is no moment not to be strong.” Fly

first class and drink scotch. Stroke

your split eyebrow with a finger and

think of your brother alive. Smile

at the memory and think

how your children will feel in your arms,

warm and friendly and without challenge.

—Michael Lassell,[i]

1984

 

 

 

 

 


[i] “How to Watch your Brother Die” Michael Lassell, reprinted in Gay and Lesbian Poetry in Our Time: an Anthology (Carl Morse and Joan Larkin, Editors] (New York 1988), ps. 224-226

_

as noted
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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I called my elderly aunt after reading this. My brave, factory worker, beautiful, uneducated, never learned to drive, beloved aunt who cared for my favorite, best friend forever, cousin through this terrible death. He’d already lost his partner and this tiny woman, forged in steel, stared down her entire small town and proudly, PROUDLY loved her son and ministered to him. 
We lost so many wonderful souls. This poem does that awful time period justice. 

  • Sad 3
20 hours ago, Parker Owens said:

I have watched others die; and this brings those experiences back. Even more, it heaps on those feelings the heavy burdens that guilt, hate and remorse must carry. I want to buckle under the weight of the sadness in these lines. 

Thank you, Parker. Ultimately I decided to post this poem because of the ray of hope at the end. Lassell creates a resolve in the brother to make sure the next generation - his children - never have to feel shunned for who they love. Naturally, there are many other incredible aspects to this poem as well, not the least of which is the love the brother is allowed to witness between his sibling and the man's partner. Thanks again for reading, and I too have been in a room like the one you and the poet mention; the hospital room in which my father died

 

 

  • Love 2
18 hours ago, 84Mags said:

I called my elderly aunt after reading this. My brave, factory worker, beautiful, uneducated, never learned to drive, beloved aunt who cared for my favorite, best friend forever, cousin through this terrible death. He’d already lost his partner and this tiny woman, forged in steel, stared down her entire small town and proudly, PROUDLY loved her son and ministered to him. 
We lost so many wonderful souls. This poem does that awful time period justice. 

Thank you, 84Mags. Your aunt sounds like an awesome person, and hearing about you reaching out to her makes me emotional. It's an honor to think posting this poem can have such wide-reaching ripples in the here and now. I read this poem yesterday morning, and even though it was not the first time I'd read it, it over-washed me with emotions, yesterday. So that's why I posted it.

Perhaps there is a broader timing at work; the wonderful, heart-felt reactions this posting has generated makes me believe there must be. Thanks once again!  

  • Love 2
5 hours ago, JACC said:

Such a heartfelt, hard, beautiful, tender but harsh… where do you find this poems?

Thank you 

Thank you, JACC. Becoming an anthologist, as I have, has taught me one thing about anthologies: they are personal. What one selects to include must have personal meaning for the collector, and that love the curator feels for each piece should be transmissible to the reader. Many of the items I have already posted in The Great Mirror of Same-Sex Love (both the poetry and prose volumes) have been ones I first read years and years ago. They have stuck with me for the emotional content they conveyed, and so I wish to share that experience with any potential Mirror reader. Others, like Michael Lassell's poem above, are fairly new to me because the books in which they appear are fairly new to me too. For works like these, I use a more impromptu impulse to know when they might be effective as entries in the anthology. 

But I suppose, the simple answer to your question is this: I have lots of books :) Lots and lots of books    

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