Body Meet Avalanche

I was a prophet, wrapped in my mothers arms brightest eyes that saw a darkened world my brother was the halo figure, a golden arm for slingshots a temper to smash his own fist against a brick wall we wept in time with the funeral march as our mother was buried in front of our eyes misgivings and mass at midnight praying to an empty alter to save our grandfather, to spare him one more night lying in bed a week later I awoke to his voice telling me our prayers had done no good It's easier to blame the empty bottles for my brothers death easier to blame the teen years than the push and pull of growing up an orphan and on nights like this, more than a decade later I can still recall that conversation when he told me when he closed his eyes and spoke those words, barely above a whisper that he wouldn't be around much longer I was thirteen and still bright eyed he was twenty three and weathered I was a prophet, but even a blind man could see the pain that was ingrained in his faintest smiles the avalanche of emotions still hit and bury me deep some nights i pray to let me reach safety others I take solace in knowing that the avalanche is holding me tight as I sleep