ode to the magic dust

thirty-four years ago, my brother became magic dust

which screamed and laughed and banged its head against walls

it played with pogs, lit firecrackers, ran with dogs, told dirty jokes

the magic dust loved to get grass stained knees

it loved to make us younger constellations laugh,

orange soda erupting from noses

the magic dust was on a mission; to make the world a joyful place

but the magic dust was no match for being alone with the world of men

ten years ago my brother became pure magic dust

how easily he could blow through my dreams then

for weeks we hung out in the days of night

at glowing bars and sky churches, at dinners, with grizzly bears

the music fully returned to his eyes

not like the humming they did before they went silent

but the rock n roll sound like when we were kids

like when he’d push me in pools and dunk my head

like when he’d body slam my bed every christmas morning

like when our trampoline games broke my arm in two

like when we’d spin the zipper cart until I’d hurl sweet potions

like when we’d laugh

magic dust was everywhere then

it radiated from everything we touched

and it flowed through everything we did

but the world the adults made wanted us pristine

and so it shook my brother out over the porch rails

it beat him with a fire poker

and flung him to the ground

until finally he was limp, dustless, and alone

and then the world said “dust is required”

and then the world said “pay up”

but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t

and so instead he paid himself

and blew his fortune right in our faces

so the taste of him would never leave our lips

so we’d be bonded by more than blood alone

so we’d never again think the dust as infinite

and so we’d praise the dust of every one of us

of every filthy windowsill

and so we praised and we danced, together

in the glow of dusty sunbeams

so we danced so we praised, together

the dusty children that we are