POEM
The Gate
I had no idea that the gate I would step through
to finally enter this world
would be the space my brother's body made. He was
a little taller than me: a young man
but grown, himself by then,
done at twenty-eight, having folded every sheet,
rinsed every glass he would ever rinse under the cold
and running water.
This is what you have been waiting for, he used to say to me.
And I'd say, What?
And he'd say, This—holding up my cheese and mustard sandwich.
And I'd say, What?
And he'd say, This, sort of looking around.
“The Gate” from What the Living Do by Marie Howe. © 1997 by Marie Howe. Used by permission of W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
Source: What the Living Do (W. W. Norton and Company, Inc., 1997)
Born in Rochester, New York, Marie Howe attended Sacred Heart Convent School and the University of . . . MORE »
