“Zobel Gibbs <br />jumped off the roof <br />in my home town, ” said Treasure. <br />“I’ll never forget his body <br />as he lay there. <br />hitting the concrete <br />face first. I never knew <br />such an unhappy soul. <br />When I was seventeen I slept with him— <br />to give that tortured man <br />a taste of pleasure <br />but the depression was so deep <br />that afterwards he asked, <br />‘What now? ’ <br />Just delight <br />wasn’t enough for him. He wanted <br />something more. <br />No one knew what that <br />‘more’ was. <br />I don’t think he knew himself. <br />Only five people attended <br />the funeral. <br />My mother wept <br />since they were childhood <br />sweethearts <br />so when my father died <br />she took it into her head <br />to care for Zobel. <br />Maybe she thought <br />to cure him. Maybe <br />she was lonely. Maybe Zobel <br />brought back memories <br />of a happy childhood. <br />I don’t know but <br />I don’t believe <br />they were lovers. <br />Soul mates <br />might be the term. This went on <br />for eight years. Zobel wrote <br />poetry. <br />Sadly he invented <br />so many words <br />none of it made any sense. <br />My mother, <br />she said she loved <br />his verse. Not that she understood <br />a word of it either. But something <br />inside of him <br />never felt what my mother said. <br />I tried to speak to him, <br />boost his spirits, <br />but the mystery of <br />his sadness <br />remained. <br />I caught him one time <br />just before dawn <br />staring out the window <br />crying. <br />‘Zobel, ’ I said, <br />‘what’s happening? ’ <br />He rocked <br />back and forth. That motion <br />soothed him, <br />a little. <br />‘Out there, ' he said, <br />then burst into <br />tears again. I was angry <br />so few people <br />showed up at <br />his grave.<br /><br />Charles Chaim Wax<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/leaving-the-dust-behind/
