Apophasis
by Gabriel Z. McCreath
When I mention you, I will not say
Your father appeared to me in a dream
you fell off the face of the Earth one summer
silhouetted against the sunrise at Mt. Auburn.
cocooned in teenage gloom and terror’s teeth,
He mentioned to me your laughter, ringing
because you didn’t, of course; you are still here.
from the volta of the pathway; we heard it clear
Nor will I say that I miss you sharply and I want
over the gentle silence as we stood still
to visit you in the dirt on occasion, to be still
under the branches of an ancient oak.
and remember what our friendship felt like
Carefully, we remembered you, to not lose you.
in the blood of the veins of my hands—because
Desperately, we listened for you. Who else, we said,
I don’t, of course, and I never did, so I will not say it.
will keep you sacred on the mantle of their minds?