Poem

Gary L. McDowell

NINE

I was  nine when  my brother was born.   I remember the thick blue
veins  pulsing on his  temples,  the doctor's fingers  in his  throat, the
hush  in the room before he discovered his voice and scared himself
alive. I watched his body fill with blood.   And then when I held him,
the way he stretched muscles in his face, made peace with breathing.
How his body flexed and then went soft. He had so much hair. And
the world was  new.  The woman  in the  next room pushed so hard
she shit herself, and her husband's laughter rolled down the hallway.

Gary L. McDowell

Gary L. McDowell is the Assistant Poetry Editor for Mid-American Review. His poetry is forthcoming in The Southeast Review, Ninth Letter, The Yalobusha Review, Caffeine Destiny, The Eleventh Muse and has appeared recently in No Tell Motel, Pebble Lake Review, Bat City Review, and others. He was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize.

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