When my oldest brother, Todd,
came back for my mom’s funeral,
he had this light about him.
His face was a poem.
Sure, he was the oldest, and he
had a healthy-looking tan from the
hot New Mexico sun, working
outside with turquoise, silver,
and bear claws to make
jewelry for the tourists, but there
was more than that.
He was an artist, and all artists have
a fractured ease about things, but he
lit up. Something from the inside
projected out.
He comforted everyone else, we leaned
on him. His eyes oozed serenity.
A few calendars later, when I traveled
back for his funeral, I saw the same
look on a few of his friends’ faces.
His wife told me after the service
that Todd had gotten sober years before.
” all artists have
a fractured ease about things”
I love your descriptive phrases. I also like how you focus on moments.
Thank you.
Powerfully penned, Thomas. Precise imagery and wordplay my friend. Fantastic write. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you, my friend.
Outstanding piece. Your description in this short story was powerful and visually authentic.
Thanks.