Mike had turned nineteen about

three weeks before.

I bought him a black and white

cardigan for his birthday.

He liked black and white.

It was how he saw the world.

That was part of the problem.

It was 5 am on a Thursday.

That Thursday began in darkness.

I didn't sleep again that day.

Mike liked to write,

especially letters.

That day, we all got one from him.

Mine said:

  "Cathy-

Thanks for being such an asshole.

You don't get shit.

Mike"

He was right; I didn't get it.

I still don't.    I suppose I never will.

 And I will never forget

what I saw out

my bedroom window.

My brother being cut

   down from the tree

where he had hung himself.

I'll never forget when I saw

that black and white cardigan

for the last time.

They closed the coffin lid

on Mike and I cried.

---CCC '90