Leaving The Dust Behind Poem by Charles Chaim Wax

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