Year of the Rat

A somewhat bad night that I won't describe, maybe the new moon. Now, the year of the rat, and the weather says it'll rain all day, torrential. A poem for the morning:

My brother's body was found

two days after his birthday.

Suicide

with a plastic bag.

They let him die

on his birthday.

I let him die

on his birthday.

His friends let him die

in a room,

alone.

I did.

I am feeling

sorry for myself.

The one I love

didn't invite me

to a gathering,

friends and their family

feasting for the new year.

He said it would be

awkward

because I do not

speak the language.

We've been together

almost three years

and he still has

nightmares

about his mother

finding out about me.

I don't like holidays,

birthdays.

I want to celebrate them,

in my secret heart,

but celebration

is for other people.

My brother died in a room.

The one I love

would rather feast

without me.