my tired dedication to him

wrapped in soft leather casing

paint chipping off and

that sticker from the farmer’s market

i have carried my life in this

for at least five years now.

my brother passed it to me

when we still spoke

and it meant something then.

a cycle of losing it and losing him and

always coming back to one another

all my cards still intact.

i followed him and it followed me

to somewhere made for leaving

and then we were quiet.

this reminder of the coldest months

of his smile and his guitar and

(a shared interest in pain)

the overgrown graveyard

mold and a well picked scab

must be laid to rest

i have been shown a love so tender

in the form of a firmer thing

nicer quality, sharper edges

a fresh start somewhere warm.

this extension of him,

(faded, wrinkled, tearing)

set in a trashcan

eight minutes from my apartment

in a state he’s never seen.

five years, one fourth of my life,

carrying the weight of my brother

in my back pocket