okay i’ll be doing my best to explain myself, to say i did the best i could with what i
had and you did the same my mom will be bringing home ice cream soon
she will invite everyone to stay and my brother will be making noise in the
kitchen either very early or very late and he will always push the silverware drawer shut with
his left hip and he will always say hey! how’s it goin? when he sees someone he
knows after he has been autopsied i will realize he never really pronounced
the whole word of anything ending in “-ing” that lazy scratchy voice none of us
really sound like each other but we all pronounce words the same way, my friend says,
our family lexicon
like how my parents will ask, “did you have a big time?” instead of “did you have a good time?”
yes i did have a big time i am trying to have a big time, i do not want to be afraid of
vastness and so i am not
okay there will be leftover tacos and someone is coming to deliver a new washer
we have to make sure someone will be home to say yep that’s the right washer now
it’s starting to get warm outside our dog is alive and panting in the yard the cell
phone towers sever the scene at the cherry orchard it’s almost upsettingly tender my dad
is hanging up his hat in the garage something really bad is going to happen, but
until it happens, i think we’re going to order a pizza tonight
i’ve got the heat blasting in my sedan, mid twenties, not a girl anymore. more days spent than he
wonder if he could see me like this,
if he already did.
lying in bed, my yellowing room, staring at the box fan trying to hear my new words in his voice,
sibling beginning to fill the space where sister hasn’t been spoken out loud, half a decade now.
the summer he made his exit i kept stealing his clothes, putting them on after i swam
he’d work on his motorcycle in the garage, loud stuff, loud radio, humming
and he’d come inside and run upstairs,
push against the door to his room
grease handprints everywhere
said he tried and they wouldn’t come off.
he’d use my deodorant, my shampoo. so it’s rational, i suppose, to think maybe we smelled the
same when people hugged us.
i only said it to him once while he was alive, my confessional, whispered before we fell asleep in
sometimes i wish we were both boys
i want to be the steep dropoff at the beach,
i used to swim so ferociously that even after i dumped all the sand out of my swimsuit and
climbed into bed,
it still felt like my arms and legs were moving and kicking,
doing handstands until we collapsed near the dunegrass
limbs yawning into each other in the backseat.
everything that was so tightly coiled is moving gentler now.
i’ve been softening, lying in the sun, digging my hips into the dirt, moving sweetly
i feel like a good bird