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.