Sunday, November 27, 2011

In Memory of my brother Daniel

Seven years ago to the day, our family lost one of world's most unique & amazing person, my brother Daniel.  It was a complete surprise & shock to everyone of his passing at 31 years young.  To know my brother is to know an intricately complex yet compassionate person who's personal struggle with manic depression & bipolar disorders only continued to expound upon his geniusness.  We grew up in Miami when still had open land to run & play and forested areas to pretend & explore.  Now it's just a huge overbuilt concrete megatropolis, which has it's own special awesomeness but nothing like how it was when we were young.  This is a poem he wrote to me in the mid 90's which totally touched my heart since our relationship at that time was far from perfect but we were working on getting back to being close again.  It captures a brief moment in our childhood and wonderful memories of growing up in classic old school Florida & an homage to my brother.

In our house, we had cockroaches instead of demons.
We had butterflies instead of angels.
Literature took the place of scripture
and science carefully muted out creation.
Death was taught as a necessity in the face of suffering
and the consequences were left to the imagination.

Our childhoods were filled with sunburns & fresh aloe.
The smell of hot pavement and dried fish scales.
overpowered the rich stink of mangrove estuaries
as we poked curiously at salty, drying fish eyes.

We were raised amongst fruit groves
and rock piles and progress.
The blades of our grass were thick and strong
and smelled sweet when pulled apart by small fingers.
Naked feet scrapped on pinecones and dried needles,
melted in carefully chlorinated water.
Constellations of fireflies dotted the nightscape in myriad numbers.

Toads and stray cats scampered from the porch
as we ventured in to the yard with our mason jars,
equipped with freshly pierced lids.
Deep morning came with the scent of placenta and damp fur
Daughters became mothers and life was precious and close – and sad.

Do you remember???

Daniel Earl Burg

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