Five in Five

(x = space)

x

x

Five in Five

(memoriam)

x

Out, out, brief candle! but

A candle isn’t brief

That’s on us for

A metaphor

Sometimes a real one, I guess

Sometimes the candles

In the church

Are pretty short

And thus available

For show

x

But the candle length

Is years,

I guess we know

Three score and ten

In made-up inches

Or in centimeters

Or real ones

(as in church)

To illustrate

x

You see, they are ubiquitous

Both real and imagined

x

The length may vary

By abstraction

Fate

I guess

And relativity

Macbeth’s flame is undone

Too soon by happy counting,

Not as an end

To tyranny,

His tragedy of making

x

But this is not a nation

Or a clan

Though Scots be in it,

Great text

Or a metaphor

(sorry to mention

then dismantle)

Simply a life

As it was

And as it’s gone

Always

Every hour I think on it

Too soon

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C L Couch

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Photo by Rob Wicks on Unsplash

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The Mystery of Richard Bruce

(x = space)

x

x

The Mystery of Richard Bruce

x

I think it’s Saturday

The twenty-eighth

I’m

I don’t

Really have to know

The sun is bright

Through filmy

(rented)

Windows

And on the dusty

Hardwood floor

(I can take

care of that)

And, well, he’s gone

Meeting God so closely

In ways we only

Imagine

And how much we do imagine

Is in the books

How much we want

To know

He was suffering

That’s over

I’m glad for that

Though catharsis should not be

The main reward

They know what to do

The professionals

My sister says

They’re really good people

Plus they know their jobs

The government

Has funded a good deal

Of everything that’s happened

Our tax dollars working

Is there one administration

Or another

To approve?

The family,

We talk with each other

And our friends

There won’t be a service

He made that clear

He approved a wake

An experience of drinking

And appreciation

Since we tend to be

Micks and Scots

And even if we weren’t

This gathering appeals

My sister

And her crew

(my brother-in-law and

nephew)

Had done so much already

The burden for

Being there

I guess I can relate

There was a lease

Apartment filled with furniture

A car

All the bureaucracy

That places our lives

In containment

Then the boxes must be emptied

When it’s time

There should be more

There must be more

There is

There is an end to pain

And remembrance

That’s on us

I’m trying to recall

His sense of humor

It will return

His last days might have

Been sullen

Save for staff

And asserting to my sister

He did not want

To be there

Though there was too much

To do

To allow for decent care

Anywhere else

Too much immobility

Too much medication

There are degrees

I understand

I made such decisions years ago

And do not like it

When there should be more

x

We’re down

To four now

In the immediacy

Of things

The math is weird

The hole

It feels substantial

Holes should have no feelings

Gaps are an absence,

After all

My feelings are dry and sad

Like edging on a desert

Upon waking

Or simply turning around

I want to feel grown-up

And I do

It is the wake that follows

A wave anticipated

Always a surprise

She’ll have the family in

One more burden

Though I think everyone

Will try to behave

(not a pub, you

know,

though even there)

We’ll ponder mysteries

Though I doubt

We’ll talk about them

Memories might be easier

We’ll look for something positive

Or funny

Or strange

He took off once

And I have no idea

What transpired

I was a child

I guess I wasn’t allowed

To know

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C L Couch

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My older brother Rick died on Thursday night. He died as if he were asleep, and I suppose he was. His last insistances were not to have a service and to have his ashes scattered (not held onto). A wake was approved.

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Photo by Kamil Feczko on Unsplash

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Late Cancer

(x = space)

x

x

Late Cancer

(diagnosed, lived out)

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My brother

Might have to be moved

Again

He is frustrated

Wants to be home

Before he wanted to be

Elsewhere

But elsewhere isn’t working out

I understand

The purpose of a medical setting

Is not to settle in

But to leave

When well

Stay is contraindicated

Home

As it cannot be managed

Still remains the prize

x

He’s in pain

Palliation only goes so far

Before the pain

Folds in again

He’s also frightened

I would be

I am in contemplation

Though these are his days

And shall the cancer

Diagnosed too late

A year ago

Take him to another home

Prepared

At last

To last

x

But there’s today’s pain

I don’t know how to wish

The pain to go away

Without invoking

The scary, heavenly alternative

But prayers aren’t magic

We aren’t dealing with a genie

Waiting to misstep

Our hopes

In misspoken entreaties

Heal my brother

Still

Is every prayer’s day

That might make nothing happen

‘Til the pain-releasing thing

Must happen

Tragically for us remaining

For him who suffers

Most of all

x

It is late December

I agree it is a magic season

How much amazing

Might be borrowed

From days

Of extra stars and circles

Green and all the other colors

Only for him

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C L Couch

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Photo by Kalle Kortelainen on Unsplash

[photographer’s narrative]

A crisp afternoon around 3pm in Dalsjöfors, Sweden these incredible snowflakes appeared on the hood of our car. You can almost hear the crisp snow creaking under the soles of the winter boots by just looking at them. Pure natural magic.

Dalsjöfors, Sweden

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Cancerous

(x = space)

x

x

Cancerous

x

We’ve been five

Soon we will be four

That is the prognosis

Palliation

Hospice

These are discussed

And sought

For him

x

Out of order

Since he’s not the oldest

In mere math of life

It could have been me

I’m the one with the machine

To keep me going

But I guess

(today’s not over)

It’s not me

(for now)

x

The math doesn’t matter

Not important

Math matters elsewhere

In the dosage

Of his medication

In the number of his place

In the hospital

His apartment number

To which they say

He will not be returning

x

It’s not me

It’s him

He is important now

But I have to say

It’s been a problem all along,

Frankly, with me

I don’t know how to lose

A brother

x

And has he ever learned

To live with this

I’d say so

A mystery he did resolve

Through work

Through home

Maybe through old movies

He knows so well

x

And one day

All shall be all

God bless everyone

Who tries

Who’s trying now

One by one

Who practices with grace,

Each fitness for heaven

That shall be judged

By perfect love intending

Hoping that

Full health to be restored

x

God bless everyone

God bless each one

God bless Rick

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C L Couch

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Photo by National Cancer Institute on Unsplash

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The Latest

(x = space)

x

x

The Latest

(family things)

x

My brother’s in the hospital

I’m not sure what that means

He fell

I know that much

He spent the night outside,

Which I think must mean

There’s trauma

x

A body worked too hard

A body with cancer worked too hard

A neighbor saw him in the morning

And called 911

He’s hundreds of miles away

And he’s in the hospital

In downtown Pittsburgh

My sister says the hospital is good

Urban, smart, efficient

x

Everyone knows their jobs

And what to do for him

x

Now we know

We’re standing by

Something will happen

And we’ll all come in

It doesn’t have to take an ending

He simply needs to be in one place

Or another

For a time

x

What contemporary medicine allows

And Medicare affords

A rehab center

For new fractures

While his cancer’s tended

And he

And everyone

Must deal with that

x

We’ve been out there

When and where shall we go now?

x

I’ve rattled all this off

Because

I don’t know how to be ready

For what’s next

I wish I had resources

Of all kinds

x

Family things

Obviously

Certainly (to push on

the conceit) I don’t mind

If you know

x

If you pray,

Maybe you’ll pray

I believe the power in that

God bless him

And help us all

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C L Couch

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Photo by Marcelo Leal on Unsplash

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Prevarication

(x = space)

x

x

Prevarication

x

How do I write about my brother

Again

And be ready one more time?

The doctor gave him time

Then that was it,

The doctor said

. . .

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C L Couch

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Photo by jules a. on Unsplash

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poems about early life

(x = space)

x

x

poems about early life

x

x

around the green S chair

(Rick and me)

x

there was an S chair

green, upholstered

with that kind of hard,

bumpy brocade that was

uncomfortable

kept in the basement

and there were other things

as basements tend to have

and around the chair

and through the other things

there was an oval

made that we would run,

my older brother and I,

while the Three Stooges

ran on television

and we ran in opposite directions

to each other, and when

we passed each other

we would whoop in high-pitched

voices like the

Stooges whom we thought

must be having fun

in black and white

as we were

around the green S chair

and everything else

pushed to one or the other

in the basement

x

x

a child’s Sunday night

x

everything was difficult

except sometimes on Sunday night

when we were downstairs

after baths or showers

pajamaed, robed

slippers over wrinkly toes

the TV set warmed up

Disney about to start

x

x

the younger ones on Friday night

x

on Friday nights

we often would

gather ‘round the kitchen table

with popcorn

and malted, chocolate candy

playing The Game of Life

sometimes Careers

we were taught Rook

the Southern person’s bridge

x

we played many games

and were okay

as long as my dad was winning

x

x

I never sang for my father

x

my dad took it on himself

to ridicule me

so that he might look bigger

somehow

whatever is in the mind

of the bully

I don’t know if that worked

inside

for him

while inside of me

as you might expect

there was resentment

and it grew

I had to win

and when I did,

I no longer cared

there was next to nothing there

and in the nothing

no relationships

x

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C L Couch

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I Never Sang for My Father is the name of a play and a film.

x

Photo by Amanda Jones on Unsplash

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Rick o’ the Wisp

(x = space)

x

x

Rick o’ the Wisp

x

Even so quickly may one catch the plague?

Olivia in Twelfth Night

x

Happy Birthday, Master Shakespeare

Squire Shakespeare

William

Will

Will o’ the Wisp

I’m visiting my brother today

He has cancer

I’ll be you knew of cancer

Even called it that

(unlike in a later age consumption for

tuberculosis)

I can’t recall it from a play

Or poem

But then I hardly know them all

And as it is,

I’m tired and not thinking

Did Lear get sick with something?

Lady Macbeth?

Or the thane?

Was there a balm for the queen

In Merry Wives of Windsor?

Did all of us feel better

In the panoply of spirits

That concludes The Tempest?

Or were we simply reminded

Of a world that isn’t ours

Regretting

Or remaining

Chastely distant,

Keeping to our own?

Well, a

Happy birthday to you, anyway

I’m visiting my brother today

He has cancer

x

C L Couch

x

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Photo by Enrique Alarcon on Unsplash

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Ranger Rick

(x = space)

x

x

Ranger Rick

x

Last I dreamed about

My brother Rick

And about raccoons

Raccoons probably because

I saw images of red pandas

And understand

That red pandas are not bears

But more like raccoons

x

My brother Rick because

We’re talking about

His last months

And hospice

x

Raccoon Rick

Wasn’t there a Ranger Rick

And was he, if he, not a raccoon?

Or was the raccoon

A sidekick or an animated

Symbol generally

Like Smokey the Bear?

x

Telling us

To live safely

Preventing forest fires

By keeping our own

Fires inside the ring

And dousing them completely,

After

x

Safety toward

Cancer, metastasized

Keep everyone comfortable,

I suppose

Deal palliatively

Everyone on all sides

Of the cancer

Fighting, still

As much as they can

Capability

Will

The fight

x

C L Couch

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Photo by Michael Payne on Unsplash

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by National Wildlife Federation, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10929789

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