i was thirteen when you died

and i saw it on the news

dining at a pizza place

where i wept in the bathroom

wiped my eyes with one-ply

then drowned my sorrows

in cinnamon sticks

i felt a little less numb

destroying my brother at

the pinball machine by the door

but the pall hung over me

as thick as the smell

of garlic in the air

wherever you are

i hope you’re making art

and eating pizza

and i hope you know

you were loved