Nirvana

Daniel called on Wednesday morning.

Billy is going downhill, he said.

He’s picking up speed.

Now it’s a strange and beautiful day:

love and loss,

beauty and chaos.

A day like any other,

except that

Billy’s checking into hospice and

starting a morphine diet.

We share pictures of happy times.

We say kind words.

He’s standing in the light.

There’s no pain here.

His friends can’t help but laugh,

because when years dissolve into days,

we remember everything.

Billy’s mom hears testimony of his finest moments,

his epic feats.

Outside, the sun pounds on the windows.

Billy breathes in love.

The TV is on the Twins game,

volume down.

No one’s watching.

We tell his stories,

like the time he was walking past

the open doors of the Uptown,

heard guitar, drums, thunder,

went inside to investigate,

saw Nirvana playing

to an empty room,

looked Kurt right in the eye.

I can hear drums right now.

I can hear angels singing.

Billy starts to hum.

Copyright Tim D.

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