Still thinking about figs on Tuesday

The last Tuesday in March
this year is the one named
for the fig tree on the way
from Bethany to Jerusalem

that Jesus cursed
and caused it  to wither
because it was barren
and he was hungry.

It was also the last Tuesday 
in March exactly ten years ago
when my brother Matt put
a .357 Magnum to his temple
and pulled the trigger.

Not the temple where Jesus
taught on that final Tuesday
of his life two millennia back
after he rode into Jerusalem

on an unblemished colt
on a path strewn with palms.
My little brother chose
 a Smith & Wesson not a Colt.

I don’t like March anymore.
Give me Easter in April evermore.
With lilies or tulips, poppies.

Mud-speckled blue belly lizards
emerging from winter’s shelter.
Not that cold mossy house
with a barrel of bottles and
the ashes of joys forever
beyond resurrection.

Matthew, Matthew, apostle
and brother, here’s my hand.

Does it reach you now,
through the veil through the
words of your namesake?