I can hear our mother
through the plywood door
of my brother’s room
separating them
from the rest of the household
I am careful
to not creak the hinges
that guard their sacred space

he giggles jovially
and I imagine him
wrapped in the same
peach comforter
mother sleeps in
clapping his hands
and clasping his mouth
to catch sighs of wonder
and awe

mother retells him stories
of magical kingdoms
ruled by a Monkey King
my brother dreams
of pulling out tufts of his own hair
and blowing them into the wind
transforming each strand into a minion
he’ll huff orders
that command his might
and righteousness
and mother will be proud

daddy startles me
lifts me into the air
untangling my body
from the cold
crevice of the doorframe
and secures me with calloused
arthritic hands
into his heart
my ear
still firmly pressed against my scalp
is red and numb
and aches
to reattach to mother’s voice
she hasn’t gotten to the part
in the story
where there’s room for one more

daddy’s footsteps
bounce me on the round of his belly
where I’ve rubbed
and patted in jubilee
throughout my childhood
but tonight
there is no magic hidden
in there for me
no conquerable land or faithful servants
to prove my worth
only cabbage
steamed fish
rice
and chilled beer

his white tee now clings to him
in wet patches of gray
at the shoulder as he
cradles us
into his worn
leather La-Z-Boy
his inaudible words
attempt to instill meaning
and resilience in me
while I try desperately to find
the monkey in his story
past the hardship
and sorrow
and despair

Anything you want ...
you have to get it
through the blood of your own hands.

and with that
his story ends
my longing
his words
blown into the wind
beside one another
in allegiance
his steady breath
lulls me to sleep
on his chest
wrapped in his arms
where it’s warm

poetry-magazineAllegiance

poetry-magazineAutumn in Prison

Allegiance

Autumn in Prison