Two Poems by J.D. Isip

by J.D. Isip

Lavender Shrubs

Never as many flowers as we imagined, yet

see how sturdy they are, how strong the scent

like your skin out of the shower, the baby’s duvet

out of the dryer, still warm. Sometimes, I hold it

against my cheek like I hold her, like you’d let

me stay your face against mine, your eyes met

mine, your breath was mine. They say the plant

will outlast its owners. In winter or draught,

its fragrance remains, though it can be faint.

Hey, Fool

Climbing to the age when I outlast my oldest brother

who died too young – what people say when they mean

you left much undone, beds and dishes, the children

who could’ve used another month in the nest, you left

the scene like dust clouds in the wake of a cartoon –

He would call with no idea why or what to say – we say

what we hope will be consequential – my brother, Bill,

would never say consequential, but he’d laugh at me

when I’d say it, he’d spend the next six months or years

telling everyone he met, “I’m consequential” – he was

younger than me now when the cocaine almost killed him,

when he let his firstborn go without his name – his name

is not as common as it once was, even his next son goes

by a middle name, not Bill, not William, not my brother,

who died too young – old voicemail, “Hey, fool, call me.”