TO THAT FEBRUARY MORNING

PUBLISHED POETRY INCLUDED IN MY FORTHCOMING COLLECTION: LETTERS TO NOWHERE

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alone. my tears still inside the walls

sewn behind mildew in the grout.

my mind—the crepuscule

darkening into an apathetic black.

i would have died that morning,

dragging hands and knees across the stone

to the bathroom, not yet detached 

from her. i called to you.

i would have died on the floor,

somberness swallowing my legs

as i bled her back to the earth

in red fistfuls. the heaviness of my sobs 

like an anchor tossed angrily to the sea.

i would have died under the weight

of expectation, asleep in crimson puddles 

smeared on my thighs and arms— 

staining the tile, trying to out crawl 

the irrevocable. you were sicker than i.

you were dying. really dying.

your liver turning back on itself— 

moss-toned skin and sallow eyes, 

vomitous between breaths. 

you were dying. unable to sleep 

or eat without pain. i leaned on you 

at your weakest, surprised to feel 

your usually strong arms shaking 

under pressure, as i curved 

my bruised knees to my chest 

and bent toward you

to be held.

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Originally published in Poet’s Choice Anthology , “Brother,” March 2021 (print issue)