Size of Heaven (first draft)

Before I realized my mother's
disease was mine; my brother's-

(first blood shared
but not diluted)

I thought

all orchids were white.

We bathe
in separate pools;
tributary veins

destined for

the same
large body
of water.

My mother sees
visions, electronic
voices, walls of rooms
the size of heaven-

not wide enough
to accommodate
her wing span.

My brother arranges
shoes, leather
according to shades
of evening. Rehearses

his prayers
to the stain
of black orchids.

I gather blossoms,
consider the color
of their skin

and reinvent

1 comment:

luc u! said...

(you are the best paper poet out there right now)


(and that applies whether or not you chose to accept it)

(you are everything i aspire to be as poetry, but fall so desperately short of)

(and my poems are fucking good)