God Save Us from Our Protectors

for the youngest brother, in memoriam

Before he went down by the river
And put a bullet in his heart,
The youngest brother
Left books on his bed—books
Opened to marked passages.
He left those marked passages
To speak to us after he had passed.
But the oldest brother closed
His brother’s message
Before we could read it. 
Was he embarrassed? 
From what did he mean to spare us?
What insight did he gain into the deed
That made him need
To hoard that knowledge?

The oldest brother wanted to believe
That someone else killed the youngest brother. 
He said that way he could wade the grief
Without the guilt.

The middle brother stood and stared and wept.  

The eldest did let us know
That at the top of the page of a song lyric,
The youngest had inscribed the date—May ——, 19——
His last day down by the river.

The youngest brother must have known
About empty spaces; he must have known
That the bullet that stopped his heart
Would shatter more than a mere muscle,

And so he left us messages —
But the oldest brother . . . —

God save us from our protectors.