Weak

I realized this morning
That the spot where you died
Was the spot where I slept
From ages three to twenty-three.
I was twenty-five when you
Passed – from the bed where I
Once cried, suicide on
My lips because a girl I loved
Had lost interest. You were
Impatient – frustrated --
As you often were. Mom
Soothed as you fumed. Your son was weak.
Did I shame you? Until I
Was about nine, nightmares
Brought you into my room
With what you called, "Blood-curling screams."
My mind often saw you as
A monster – a branch of
The bad dream but then you
Arrived next to me and I stilled.
You sat with me until I
Fell asleep. I sat with
You your last day. Your eyes
Were open and swollen, your skin
Pale and sagging, our breathing
Intermittent. Were you see-
ing what I had seen? I
missed the end. I cried and ran – weak,
Again. But now, near forty-
Years-old, I am right there.