by A.D. Lauren-Abunassar

Before the mudminnow came the crustacean;

before the first song came the last song

and my brother’s birth in a rainstorm. Before

the rainstorm came the drought of God in rooms

 

that spoke of him — anymore I am learning to doubt the body

for its ability to hold up sadness. Anymore I am thinking of the skin

of the minnow in the mouth of the ghost crab, the crab in the palm

of my brother — what this says about holding

 

like holding means held is a four letter prayer

to the giants in fables. Those who could stretch long-necked

into tomorrow before tomorrow was yesterday —

yesterday was for the minnows, my brother whispers now and then.

 

Rendered down anything can be

promise and anymore a promise feels

like the sad orange light shown through a pill bottle —

the sick bitter swallow before sallow keeps the body held there.  

 

Anymore I am learning to speak in the language

of shadows cast on white plaster walls. A lesson in holding

before losing. Given knuckle I will guess an inchworm.

Given brother I will guess umwelt. Given darkness I will guess a crane.