These Are Not My Truths, IV

IV

I tried to tell you once
about what my brother did to me.
But you’ve never
had the time to listen
to petty memories.
And now I don’t remember
why I wanted to tell you.

“I can’t remember, I can’t remember,
I can’t remember.”
has turned into
“I won’t remember, I won’t remember,
I won’t remember.”

Wielding your silence like a club,
even now,
laying entwined with you,
finally, almost happy,
almost asleep
I’m afraid

 to wake you up
and tell you my
truths.

Even when we’re together
I’ve never felt so alone,

If I could figure out
a way to do it right
to bother no one,
to effect no one,

I’d kill myself.

But all I can hear
is my niece asking
where I went, and when I’ll be home

Echoing in my ears.

I know that my being in a war
is more exciting to you
than anything I can
physically do.

“I’m glad you came back home.”

He whispers into my hair, into
my neck, into
my body.
I ponder this thought,
Glad to be home, yes,
but maybe if there were people
like me
involved
This wouldn’t happen.