Home.
I'd finally made it home.
It wasn't what I remembered.
I walked into my mom's house
and it smelled like death.
My brother's old room
turned into a deathbed.
There lay the skeleton
who'd fixed my car
and given me exasperated looks
when I'd concocted up some plan
that he'd have to pay for.
He seemed to fold in on himself
when he saw me.
He had waited,
He had held on,
until I'd had my moment on stage;
until he saw me home one last time.
Three days later he was in the hospital.
Two weeks after I graduated he was gone.
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