Waking Lazarus

Lazarus found his death, but his memory will always live in the hearts of those whose life he touched. RIP Christopher Watkins.

 

I remember helping you bandage your wrists.

I suppose that in my teenage mind,
I regarded your constant desire to kill yourself
as having something to do

with me.

Joey called me,
around two in the morning,
frantically explaining to my parents
that something was wrong

with you.

When they wouldn't let him talk to me,
nor let me call to check on you,
I climbed from my bedroom window,
attempting to walk
the ten miles

that lay

between us.

I didn't make it a mile
before I turned back.

Lost -

in the dark,
eerie stillness
that found its way to me...

to surround,
confound,
and unblushingly suffocate me
and keep me from my path.

Thorns and
brier patches -

Like bushels of razorblades,
blackberries, and fishhooks,
they clung to the tender flesh

of my legs.

I spent the last night of Summer
trapped in those woods -

lovely,
dark,
and deep.

I tried so hard to save you,
keep you from that

eternal sleep.

Miles to go,
miles I didn't make.

I turned around
and went back to my house,
where I'd lay awake wondering
if you'd live this time.

Then the sun rose -

a forest fire
through indigo curtains -

bright

as a Nazi lampshade.

I pretend to leave for school;
but instead I drive,
drive straight to you.

When I first saw your body,
I thought you were dead.

Your black hair fell
over your pale face -

featureless,
expressionless.

I waited in the doorway,
watching you,
waiting for your chest to rise,
to show me that
you were alive.

When it finally did,
I ran to the bed, kneeling
and kissed your eyelids
through that veil of black hair.

You awoke then...

You didn't say a word.

You stretched out your arms,
offering me the spot
on the bed

beside you.

You fell back to sleep,
but I lay awake
on the pillow

next to yours,
wrapped up
in a thick layer
of hunter green blankets,
a forest of cigarette burned bed sheets.

I found your arm under the blanket,
and pulled it out into the light.

I saw the rust colored stains on your bandages,
the dried up blood that clung to your arm hairs.

This was your third attempt,
and I guess I figured that if you hadn't yet,
you may never succeed.

Presumed immortality...

I closed my eyes
and held your hand,
white tape sticking -
gripping my wrist
when it met yours.

Later -

you'd have me change your bandages.

Later -

we’d make love on the floor beside your bed.

Lazarus,

someday you'll find your death...

and when you do,

a part of me will die.

Summer smoldered outside
your blue painted '

window
pain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Dana64]

The imagery is exquisite...a motion picture played in my mind as I read. I'm left wanting more, wanting a novel.

[Sweet & Tender Hooligan]

A very interesting read. Normally I don't like reading names in poems but even that blended in really well with your interesting wording. Its beautifully dark and your imagery pours off the page and captivates. The pain and sensitivity in your words brings your poem to life. A wonderful and thought provoking piece. That I found thoroughly fascinating to read.

[luciddreamer]

Wonderful write.....the pain as well as love came through loud and clear through these words....

Peace
Robin

[Bubo]

I never tire of reading you.......and this is such a hard piece to read in that your memory has travelled back......and the beauty in the helplessness of this person you love, the pain and the tenderness......and loss..........your sorrow is reflected in every line my friend x