Upon the Anniversary of Your Death – Jasper Kerkau


I carried your books—Mencken, Nietzsche, and other misanthropist tomes—boxed up and sold by the pound, exorcising all your existential angst. The body still warm, I drove your mother in silence to bookstore, trivial task, your prized possessions discarded in the abyss, torn covers and scribbled footnotes heralding a new aeon. Ten years removed, I am still touched by unforgivable grief, remembering your deep laughter and explosive spark—the glass-smashing, room-clearing nihilism that left fragments of strangeness everywhere.

I carried your grief, standing in your place, eulogizing your father and all the sadness in the world. I thought of your heartbreak, his rheumatoid-afflicted limbs, the never-ending horror of merciless suffering that drove you into nothingness as he wasted away. My shoes too tight, among strangers, swallowing my tongue, perspiring, hiding under table, echoing I can do this…I can do this…I have to do this for him. Tie crooked, I shake hands with your family—“thank you for standing in for him,” they tell me with a wink and pat on the back. I bury my face in my hands afterward in the car. I will never again speak over the dead. 

I carried your energy with me into adulthood. Swimming in blue waters, experiencing the miracle of childbirth, thinking of your eternal resignation—Methadone and Xanax—as I pass out cigars. I can’t help but think that a child would have saved you, as I see the future in the helpless innocence of my fruit.  I “bought in,” pushing carts down long aisles, groceries, comfort, pitter-patter of little feet, bank accounts, and Sundays strolling through antique stores. All the while, I feel the spectre of your life casting its pall over my experience. The sadness is at arm’s length, though I know one day we will drink from the mead horn in the great hall. 

I carried your failure with me through tragedy, running in circles, ankles and knees aching, never stopping…jogging past your childhood home. Finding God at the worst times, finding life in the place where you surrendered. She walked out and you died. I thought of this when mine left, rose from the dead, evolved, while you lingered in my shallow sleeps, haunting me as I struggled to overcome. Every day I pushed myself further away from that place you created. I was only an inch away, pushed into the shadows only to embrace the light. I did it because you could not—I did it for you.

I carried your passion, your love of knowledge, finished a degree, never walked but hid in bathroom at work, thought of you as I visualized them calling my name. “It was all for naught,” I tell friends, secretly, of course, it was for you. Your brittle life redeemed by the marrow and bone pulverized and ingested in magic concoctions, secret rituals, great revelations thrown up in silly rooms with people I never knew as well as you. I bear the cross that people will never understand, never letting go—making the life that we dreamed of in the dreadful three a.m.’s when there were too many lines and too much talk that was all so fleeting.

I carried your beauty, your friendship, your combustible insanity with me. Sat on couches, bored, trying to find that madness, but I am cursed forever to a life of mundane drinks and civil discourse, dreaming of the past. I ask your mother if they ever got a tombstone. I think of your brilliance, unmarked, given over to eternity and worms—forgotten. My life is defined by you, looking forward, being better, not being swallowed by the same monsters that carried you away. You are with me in my dreams. After ten years, I think of you ever day.

Jasper Kerkau


28 thoughts on “Upon the Anniversary of Your Death – Jasper Kerkau

  1. My eyes are sodden with tears having read this. It is the most beautifully heartfelt and touching thing I think I have ever had the honor of reading. I am in awe of your genuine gift of expressive splendor. You transcend the confinement of mere letters and words and meld your very experience with that of the reader. There exists no word to convey the unprecedented humanity that you have put into essence here. I feel the presence of this beautiful person through you. And it bears a deeply personal and poignant resonance to my own experience. Thank you Jasper. You have a beautiful heart, mind, and soul.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This was beautiful. It wasn’t just the material and the emotion, but the method – it isn’t a poem, it isn’t short fiction – it’s a blog post that’s well fucking artistically done. It’s the new literary curve. This was excellent; I’ve found a blog to follow.


    • Gabrielle,
      The best compliments come from those for whom I have respect. I was just acquainted with your work which is textured and gratifying. I am humbled, truly. Thank you for taking the time to read, and I look forward to digging deeper into your work.


      • The honor is sincerely all mine. I can say the same about you. I take time to show my gratitude to people who have taken time to like my writing by going on their page and appreciating their own work and yours is one of my favorite already! I love discovering different types of writing and styles uniquely used by an author and yours is so sophistically passionate (if that at all makes sense!) and I cannot wait to read more.
        – Thanks again!


  3. jesus! This was so incredible I want to never write a poem again for fear of looking stupid. I was floored by:

    “Your brittle life redeemed by the marrow and bone pulverized and ingested in magic concoctions, secret rituals, great revelations thrown up in silly rooms with people I never knew as well as you”

    Liked by 1 person

    • Rob,
      I have read your work and appreciated your sentiment, though I never think anyone will make your look stupid; your work is amazing. We are kindred spirits trying to put words together to
      articulate something that cannot stay buried. This piece was about one person giving up, submitting to addiction and another deciding to push forward, forever haunting by a guilt that is hard to articulate. The line in question was one that surprised me, interesting where this stuff comes from. At times, when writing, I feel as though it is stranger writing, another part of my self. Thank you brother. Always love to hear from those who possess the gift, means so much.

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s