Tommy

We began in the same house,
two boys at the same table,
same passions passing back and forth
like playing catch.

Always knowing,
never having to ask.

Years later
I put down the glass
and questioned everything.

You stood on the other side of that
as if I had closed a door.

Moving forward.
A ring. A home.
My life moving one way,
yours another.

I called.
I wrote.
I left the porch light on.

Nothing.

Then the telephone rang:
fifty-one,
his heart,
sudden.

A few ordinary words
and every door locked at once.

Twenty-five years today.

Some days I still want
to pound on that door.
Other days I sit beside it
and remember two boys
who knew nothing yet
about leaving.

This morning
the chair across from me
is pulled out slightly—

just enough
for my younger brother
to sit down and say hi.