Parachutes

Now two weeks and 20 years have passed
I'm dropped at an unfamiliar cemetery
I can't see the chapel from the masses of graves and trees.
I almost hope I have the wrong funeral 
The chapel is small and almost empty 

I slide into the empty back row
No more than a dozen mourners for a thirty seven year old
I'm only the second person I've seen with a shirt and tie
And I'm just in time to hear the minister tell a tale of suffering and sorrow... the way in which your brother died

Three candles are lit
One for each brother
I'm not religious but I pray...
I pray that life is kind to your mother
And to you... 
The last remaining brother

You were always so tall for your age when we were kids.
Now you look so frail, malnourished 
A prisoner of your fate
You look defeated, mistreated 
No energy left for emotion, commotion, love or hate.

How I remember our youth
Before your father crashed his car.... Dead
I remember our youth, we played paratroopers jumping from sheds... 
With carrier bags to trap air, held at arms length above our heads to soften our fall

Do you remember? Us making a camp in the trees...a second home. Or is your consciousness preoccupied... by your next hit of methadone?

It doesn't matter no doubt, we've spent so long apart.... But my memories of parachutes from carrier bags....

I hold close to my heart