so there’s the weekly conversations
when skype is working
about books music women life work
there’s the plans
the trips to Mission Ranch
where I stayed once
on your recommendation
Izzy’s Steak House
that New Year’s Eve
with Little Chuck
who is actually taller than you
but you’re still Big Chuck
in our eyes
the balloons floating toward heaven
that list of questions
we were instructed by you
to ask all available women
and lo and behold
it did lead to conversation
some of it even interesting
there are the magazines you lay out
the CDs DVDs books
you’re always listening to something
though you tend to watch the same movies
over and over and over
again
you are the kind of friend
whose picture is in the dictionary
under loyalty
and though opinionated
they are opinions worth hearing
you keep coming back to the Jesuits
and I admire that…

we met on a bench
during orientation for transfer students
you picked me to talk to
because I was the only other person
wearing bellbottom jeans
that was the beginning of our brotherhood
and our roads
though different
continue to overlap
through time
shared music
a fondness for whiskey
and once
in another time zone
we shared a house in LA
picked because it had enough bedrooms
for the various people we carried with us
and a wet bar
which was essential
in our eyes
my brother
how is it we
of two opposite personalities
have remained so close
without tension
even during all those pool games
with only one argument
over my driving
settled when you refused
to get out of the car
a thousand years ago
my brother
we sealed our fates
and traveled rocky roads
connected in ways
we don’t fully understand
there have been women
some…

it was some fish restaurant on the coast
you knew the owner, I think
and a TV star was romancing some starlet
a few tables away
while you told me about the man
in your life
and I spoke of the woman
in mine
yours a success story
mine one of loss and pain
and we drank two bottles of wine
then I switched to bourbon
you to white russians
and it was close to dawn
when we weaved our way to our cars
you off to Venice Beach
me to Santa Monica
all the guys at I&L would fantasize about you
and ask my permission
to ask you out
Vimal said I was protective of you
and I suppose I was
you were always a bit vulnerable
and me, your protector
the long island kid
you still have my denim jacket
and high school letter
one day I’ll have…

five flights of them
counting down, then up
the wall you touch
the railing
someone suggested a cane
a dog
as if you hadn’t thought
of those things
you who were always
a beat or two ahead
now it’s the things discarded
emptying the apartment
sorting out the pictures
“no one cares about
your vacation pictures”
the traveling over
too difficult alone
there is so much
one can’t see
so many things
a blur
you are not rude
if you don’t say hello
you just can’t distinquish
their faces
it all comes down
to what you lose
and you lose so much
these days
except your will
that stubborn strength
your laugh
in fate’s face
the stoic solo
erect in the wind
and braving the stairs
those five flights of stairs
each day

there were homemade
potato chips
benches to read on
a sea breeze
my dog asleep
at my feet
that beautiful carousel
and the promise
of a brass ring
a hand outstretched
across what was
a lifetime
and you
and happiness
just out of reach
and me
riding a wooden horse
up and down
around
through eternity

I’m eating an apricot, actually two apricots from the basket I bought, and remembering that July after Ali’s wedding when we were having breakfast at the hotel and you loaded up on apricots because they were so juicy, saying, these Turkish apricots are wonderful. I never tasted apricots this sweet.

It was one of those moments that replays itself in my head every time I eat an apricot even though my first memories of apricots are of my mother who loved that particular fruit and said something similar whenever she was biting into one, though without the reference to Turkey because she had never gone there, or here, actually, since it is where I live now.

Fruit. I think of you a lot when I eat fruit. There were always different types of fruit on your kitchen table that you were slicing for me to eat. Watermelon, for instance, is…