I’m writing a series of poems about my brother who passed away when I was 27 years-old. He’s been on my mind so much lately, and I’m not sure why. Families are such odd and intricate subjects to write about. The whole experience is fraught with stew of guilt and anxiety. And yet, family is a subject that I am drawn to again and again.
Here’s my fragment for this week’s Three Word Wednesday – dual, identical, volley
Stan Laurel and my brother are playing cards.
Their expressions are identical, bemused
smile, faraway eyes. Cards are laid on the table,
gathered and shuffled. All afternoon, the light
moves across the walls like the slow pan
of an ancient film projector, it’s dual reels
snickering and whirring. They drop peanut shells
on the floor. Drink milk straight out of a bottle.
And when my brother takes the pot
with a majestic sweep of his cards onto the table,
the volley of silent laughter.