Free Gabriel by Edward Hirsch

The funeral director opened the coffin
    And there he was alone
    From the waist up
    I peered down into his face
    And for a moment I was taken aback
    Because it was not Gabriel
    It was just some poor kid
    Whose face looked like a room
    That had been vacated
    But then I looked more intently
    At his heavy eyelids
    And fine features
    He had always been a restive sleeper
    Now he was weirdly still
    My reckless boy
    Dressed up for a special occasion
    He liked that navy-blue suit
    And preened over himself in the mirror
    Hey college boy
the guy called out
    On the street in Northampton
    You look sharp in those new duds
    He loved the way he looked
    After he stopped taking the meds
    That fogged his mind
    He admired himself
    In store windows and revolving doors
    Where his reflection turned
    Now he looked rigid and buttoned up
    Like he was going to a funeral
    On a Friday in early September
    Laurie loosened his necktie
    And opened his top button
    So I could breathe easier
    His face was waxen
    And slightly shiny
    His skin gray and papery
    Why were there black marks
    Around his eyes
    Already a little sunken
    His nose slightly deformed
    A scab where his lip had bled
    During the seizure
    He was still handsome
    In his fresh haircut but something
    Was off he wasn’t moving
    He could never stand still but now
    Something that had once been my son
    Lay there restless spirit
    Who left the house one rainy night
    And never returned
    Lost boy
    Who will never be found again
    Anywhere but eternity
    Uncontrollable fiery youth
    Who whirled into any room
    And ranted against whatever
    Came into his mind
    The world was unjust to him
    And so he hurled his tirades
    And then disappeared
    He has the Japanese word for music
    Tattooed on one arm and a Jewish star
    Tattooed on the other
    It looks colored in with blue crayon
    You shall not make gashes in your flesh
    For the dead or incise any marks on yourselves
    I am the Lord
it says in Leviticus
    But something tribal had taken root
    And he labeled himself a Jew
    He downed all four glasses of wine
    And sold me the afikomen on Passover
    But he did not like the High Holidays
    He disliked Sunday school
    He was allergic to synagogues
    I never saw him crack a prayer book
    When he was too young to object
    Janet dressed him up for Purim
    In a black and white shirt
    With a sign on his back that said
    Queen Esther’s Little Brother
    He roared a noisemaker against Haman
    I wonder what he would think
    About the short-sleeved shroud
    He is wearing under his white shirt
    In the casket I hope it’s comfortable
    He would have scorned the old Jew
    We hired to sit with him overnight
    Janet didn’t want him to be by himself
    I’m sure he was annoyed by the prayers
    I wonder if he believed in God I never asked
    He once cut the grass around Emily Dickinson’s grave
    In West Cemetery in downtown Amherst
    And read me the inscription
Called Back
    It reminded him of going to the cemetery
    In Houston to visit his friend
    Who was now in heaven Lettie said
    He experienced the rapture
    But Gabriel talked to the gravestone
    And clutched a reindeer with a yellow bandana
    I wonder if he knelt down and prayed
    With the family when his friend died of leukemia
    Cousins rolled in the aisle speaking in tongues
    Jews stand up to the Almighty
    I told him but mostly we just skipped
    Out of services and headed to the playground
    He was named after Janet’s mother Gertrude
    And the angel Gabriel
    Strong man of God
    He had three epileptic seizures
    Suddenly his brain caught fire
    He spasmed to the ground and blanked out
    Dostoevsky believed the convulsive fits
    Bring you down bring you closer
    The idiot the holy fool are nearer to God
    He was a pallbearer at two funerals
    One of my fathers died in Chicago
    One in Phoenix I gave both eulogies
    The music of death is solemn
    He kept hugging me afterward and talked
    Like a madman in the car to the graveyard
    Like a spear hurtling through darkness
    He was always in such a hurry
    To find a target to stop