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
them.