Ashlandsblog

I suppose I imagined it. When my brother is brought up, I hear the condolences, sentiment manufactured, is still a sincere gesture. But I imagined someone asking me If I miss him, right after. A tiny glimpse of compassion, for a moment reminding me, grief is the brother of love. And he demands to be felt. Someone please remind me to perform a seance and bring back the ghosts in my attic. I’m forgetting if you avoid them, they move your furniture, your favorite mug goes missing and you’ll never find the remote. I guess, I’ll sit on the floor then, drink right out the carton and look out the window. My brother welcomed attention with contempt.