There is a blue velvet bag in the corner of my closet,
down behind where I hang my nightgowns.
You never saw this house.
Your life-path diverged years ago,
and I kept my distance.
The blue velvet bag is big enough for small books,
there are no books in it.
Is this all you amount to?
I can carry you in my hands,
irrespective —given the scope of a life.
The blue velvet bag is full, and heavy.
It has never been dusted, and it needs to be.
I had to sign upon receipt.
That may have been the only time I was asked—
if I was me because of you.
The blue velvet bag used to be on the floor by the corner of my bed,
and I have moved it twice.
Our brother David wanted to take you to Mt. Shasta,
bring his kids and new girlfriend—I said, “No!”
I didn’t want them to see me cry.
The contents of the blue velvet bag are priceless to me.
When I am gone it will likely be worthless.
The last time I saw you…
you were too different,
and I was scared.
The cremains are in a sealed plastic bag,
with a tag that has his name and some numbers.
You are no longer in a bad place,
no longer in danger,
and I don’t have to worry about you anymore.
The cremains are in a sealed cardboard box,
the cardboard box is in The Blue Velvet Bag
They found you in a cheap hotel room.
You only had the clothes you were wearing,
and a key with no known designation.
My brother died in April 2021,
in San Francisco, from an overdose,
but the coroner suspected foul play was a contributing factor.
The Blue Velvet Bag is in the corner of my closet,
down behind where I hang my nightgowns.
Cherol Ockrassa 