SUBJECT>Re: My Brother's Keeper POSTER>ryan EMAIL> DATE>1111461755 IP_ADDRESS>cache-mtc-ac03.proxy.aol.com PASSWORD>aaYfRWN2Zn1KM PREVIOUS>85128 NEXT> 85396 IMAGE> LINKNAME> LINKURL>

[My Brother’s Keeper]

Like smoke from chimney, like soul

from body, I only visualize steam as it rises

from the tea kettle. But I hear the crackle

of flames around boiled limbs that flail, a wail swallowed

by suds. When feet bang against the tub;

I feel it in my chest like a spectere's thump thump thump.
 
 
 
The impact of glass on glass is silent.

Mother is a root that will not pull

from the garden. She beats the dust out

from rugs like bad dogs, choking, she hangs

sheets like ghosts in the yard.
 
 
 
Stir the pot on the stove. Stir and Stir

only once, it boils over when she runs out

the door to wring out dirty clothes.
 
 
 
I know the cricket crawls across the floor

trying to not be seen. Or heard. It will surely resist

an urge to sing, to rub its legs together.
 
 
 
I hear the clicks of tiny footfalls. I see the path

it’s chosen. On hands and knees, I stalk

it like a cat, then give Mother the bug for luck:

but don’t tell her that; she already knows

all these old wives tale. She cups the insect in hands

shaped for prayer but never utters amen.