—Henry Thomas Clark, 10/7/14
We’ve framed an ultrasound
of you and Peter
holding hands
(or almost) in the womb,
your moon-bright arms
crossed in a black balloon
with week, and weights,
and heights in millimeters
penciled on the side.
We say it’s good
that he, at least, was with you
when you died,
that unlike us
you’ll never know the why
of being lonely
or what naked falsehood
feels like in one’s mind.
You see, it’s false
to say your death
was somehow grace. It’s grace
that spared Cain’s life
and later gave Eve other
sons, despite creation’s
wastes and faults.
I wish you could have known
love’s aftertastes.
I wish you’d had a chance
to hate your brother.
