It’s there, in my stomach, and it stirs up; a wicked batter. All nettles and ache. My mom’s wooden spoon, weaponized, upside my brother’s heathen head. I wield it. I stick it in the mix and stir. A bloody mess as it blends. I taste it and wince. Too much despair. My hand heavy on the pour.
I open my mouth bucket-wide. I shovel it in.
You take her hand and twirl her. Her dress spins out and back wrapping a frame like I’ll never have; so ladylike. Do you like that? Her black tights? Untouching thighs? A flower next to you and I am
You, once a flower next to me and now
What is leaving?
What is left?
I followed my older brother down the side of a cliff to a beach but got stuck. He kept going. He reached the sand. The hang gliders saw me and pointed. A team of rescuers came—linked arms and rope—and saved me.
My dad beat me when I got home,
That’s what I’m getting.
What I’ve got.
When my mountain goat brother went gone I held the earth wall, frozen.
There was a path until there wasn’t.
I thought it would be easy until it wasn’t.
I just wanted to reach the beach; hot sand and salt froth. A promised land.
You are the beach, will always be the beach, and I am still stuck on the cliff wall
the rescuer’s hand outstretched, screaming for me to just reach up
pleading for me
to just take it.