Fireworks

My best friend's fifteen-year-old brother killed himself the Memorial Day of my senior year. This is a night with my best friend.

Fireworks

-- to some of my brothers

When we found the fireworks,

we could’t resist.

Not doing something stupid

wasn’t an option.

“Ok, but let’s not get caught,”

He said he couldn’t

Now that he’d been to prison.

I could count on him.

The rocket did everything

but lift off. Laugh-drunk,

we half-ran back to your house

with some bombs to spare,

So we took to the bathroom.

it was waterproof

he said it wouldn’t make noise.

Gunshot. He was wrong.

I might as well have swallowed it.

The bullet-hole crater

in my stomach gave way to

molten lead guilt burning

red into the lockbox

memory bank I

keep safe, stowed in the darkest

room, unsupervised.

I was afraid of leaving,

in case I found you

shaking your head, waiting to

bring me down to hell.

You weren’t there, I figured

you thought it funny,

still enjoying the fireworks.

Maybe you didn’t 

watch, unable because you’re

not there. But that would

send me over the edge, shoot

me off into space.