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Mike Gullo

I heard Mike was killed
last Saturday.

I could say
we went on a trip together,
but it would sound as though
Mike and I had been together.

I saw him driving his blue Chevy
down Temple Street.
I saw him falling off Chris’s shoulders
in the ocean.
I saw him hold a Blue Morpho butterfly
breathing its wings on the tip of his finger.

And I remember the look on his face
because he was always calm.
He had a calm face as though
he was never suspicious.

=================================
(earlier version)
I didn’t know Mike very well,
but we went on a class trip once.
I could say
we went on a trip together,
but it would sound
as though Mike and I were together.

I heard Mike was killed
last Saturday.
I remember the look on his face.

I wish I could say I remember
the look on his face when…
but it would sound like I could
remember a significant moment.

I saw him driving his blue Chevy
down Temple Street.
I saw him falling off Chris’s shoulders
in the ocean.
I saw him hold a Blue Morpho butterfly
breathing its wings on the tip of his finger
as he walked through the dining room.

And I remember the look on his face
because he had a calm as though
he was never suspicious.

Hi Manna

This is a tender and nicely nuanced remembrance. I like the honesty of the narrator admitting that they really didn't know the person well. I can say that when I have heard someone that I have known has died it has come as a shock, even if I have not know the person well. Somehow we each feel diminished and unsettled to learn that someone we spent time with, even on the internet, is gone. I especially like the well chosen imagery toward the end of the poem:

I saw him hold a Blue Morpho butterfly
breathing its wings on the tip of his finger
as he walked through the dining room.

-- there's a breathtaking quality to those lines. Nicely done.

Chris

I edited this, so I thought I'd send it back to the top. I think I like this version better because it's cleaner and because it feels inconclusive.