Fathers, Mothers, Brothers and Sisters

---

I
Father, Your Lips Are Blue
Bluer Than Your Nails
For Pills Have Cured Your Illness.
Does the Stiffness Hurt Much?
Trailing Tears Tell Me:
"My Pain Is Not That of the Skin."

Your Daughter Comes. She Asks Why.
Do I Tell Her It's Your Skin?
She Is Happy. She Leaves.

II
Mother Lies Pale Within a Red Lake.
Her Webbed Hair Hiding the Empty Slits Upon Her Wrists
Which Had Failed to Close After Their Last Sighs.
I Caress the Wrists With Kisses.
Glassy Eyes Stare Back:
"My Pain Is Not That of the Skin."

Your Daughter Comes. She Asks Why.
I Tell Her It's Your Skin.
She Is Confused. She Leaves.

III
Brother, He Is Shot.
Still Sucking His Revolver Like a Pacifier,
The "O" of His Mouth Tells Me:
"My Pain Is Not That of the Skin."

Your Sister Comes. She Asks Why.
"It Is the Skin."
She Is Doubtful. She Leaves.

IV
Sister, You Fall to Join Brother.
You Scream All the Way From the Roof:
"My Pain Is Not That of the Skin."

Sister Comes. She Asks Why.
"It Is the Heart."
She Knows. She Leaves.

V
She Is Eighteen.
Her Heart Is 40, 50, 60 ...
She Cannot Take the Pain.
She Cannot Take
From Fathers, Mothers, Brothers and Sisters.
She Is Only Eighteen.

As She Stares Into the San Franciscan Night,
The Wind Whispers:
"My Pain Is Not That of the Skin
For It Shall Heal."

---

Sometimes I feel that it is a great shame that the world seems to become emptier and emptier and when we find ourselves feeling lonely and desolute, people will take drastic means ... but the truth is "our pain is not that of the skin for we shall heal" ...