July/Aug 2021 • Vol. XLIII No. 4 PoetryJuly 1, 2021 |

I Love My Brother

1 The tree is a feather. I believe everything you declare. The cat kissed a star he’d caught in his paw. Loneliness in a leg at rest or hurrying through a tunnel while hitched to a hip it didn’t choose. The blinders on the horses in Central Park are maddening. And the turrets spin wildly while we sleep. I can do nothing about this world but weep or praise. Though yesterday I became a piece of bark that had been dislodged from a tree and laid to rest. The people cleverly used me as a walkway. I am immune to cleverness. Am I a village flooded by orange poppies? Has milkweed undone my mind. There is no answer in the hall. Every fern turns into a question. Inside and outside are all doors. There’s not a mirror not forsaken. We rush to save the sliver. Neglect is a crumb the pigeons skitter for. There’s a skittish heart in a state of undress. Latch onto me, moss. The tenderness of your root-nubs, the velvet perspective. We carry our arrows between our teeth. We rest as blackly as

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

Ire

By Alessandra Lynch

1 The tree is a feather. I believe everything you declare. The cat kissed a star he’d caught in his paw. Loneliness in a leg at rest or hurrying through […]

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.