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JOHN MICHAEL MACMILLAN

What do they call you in heaven, John Michael MacMillan?
Are you still the "Baby-Baby", that player from the past?
Sometimes I try to catch you, somehow to hold you
Long enough to know that your ship has safely docked.

Can you read the poem alone now, John Michael MacMillan?
Did God allow you the small, simple pleasure
Of having a deck on which to bleed, a place in which to read,
A room that owns a door?

Sometimes I miss you, John Michael MacMillan. 
Sometimes I miss the hope we had.
Sometimes I wish I had gone with you.

Is that why I try so hard to catch you, John Michael MacMillan?
Would I know you, as much as I knew you then;
Or will I merely remember the haunted story of your past?
 
Your brilliant, blasted brother shot down in your place;
Your sanctified vengeance and your holy justice;
The penalty imposed on a child.
That terrible, eternal loyalty impressed in blue ink
To ‘Mama’ Katherine: that damnable necklace of maternal tribute.

What of that, John Michael?  Did God heal that pain?
Do ‘Mama’ Katherine’s walk His streets
Holding hands with twin baby boys?
Do you still wear her name, John Michael?
Or have you forgiven yourself for the rejection
Fostered out upon you and your brother.

Have you learned to believe that you were worthy of love?
That you deserved a better life than the one you stumbled upon;
Than the one that stumbled upon you;
The one that stomped you; the one that ate you up.

If I knew the right words to bring you back, John Michael, I’d use them.
But you left too soon; left me behind holding the ghosts of your life.
I wonder if you ever look down and just laugh 
When you hear me calling for you,
My serious voice repeating “O Captain, My Captain...”

Sometimes I try to see life with your obscure humor,
But mostly I listen for the slow, silent tread,
Aware your spirit is passing over me.

And I know, I know
I cannot catch you ever again.
For you are gone, John Michael MacMillan,
Oh Baby-Baby, you are gone from me
And now dwell among the dead.


[To John Michael MacMillan.  Rest in peace, Baby-Baby.]
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