My brother

Portrait of My Dead Brother, 1963 - Salvador Dali -

Portrait of my dead brother Salvadore Dahli 1963

I’m sorry, Pete, that I rarely visit where your remains

Were laid that terrible day in December 1996. You are often

In my heart. Forty-one is no age to part from all you love

But I know how brave you were. When your kidneys finally

Packed up you were twenty-one and in love. I only found

Out after you’d died, that you’d written to the girl and set

Her free by telling her you no longer loved her. Such a brave, loving lie.

Tears from my eyes when I think of your sacrifice, I can hardly breath.

Sometimes I think of what I’d give you if I could meet you again:

I’d fix up a final ton up, a tear about on a Harley-Davidson.

I’d arrange a year without being tied to the kidney machine

I’d wish you a brother wiser and kinder and less selfish than I

We’d walk through the peak district on a sunny day in May.

I’d buy you a pint at one of the pubs you drank at before your life

Caved in and illness buried you away. Most of all, I’d give you

A luckier start in life: free from undiagnosed, congenital kidney disease.

I’d sing you your favourite Elvis song. Grant you a much longer time to live.

Send you a kiss from our mum, a hand shake from dad: both with you now.

I’d watch you hold your grandniece, Charlotte, born on April

Fool’s Day, 2019. But I can do nothing for you, Pete, except

Swear to you that when we meet again, I will make amends.







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