winter solstice

everything that made you

ends here.

the first sound

of your whole life

ebbs and dips

in a green line burned

across your last hope;

a stream of black bile

sighs at the quick of her mouth.

the anchor of your faith

has come undone

from the ankles bare

under the sheet,

your body’s mirror

a window onto backlight.

all the laying on of hands

becomes a gnashing of teeth,

your uncle’s hand

a flag to the alarms

a do not resuscitate,

the halt of padding feet.

how startled the last breath.

how surprising the relief.

afterthought of your arms

awake keeping your brother

from falling into dust;

here; hold him, hold him up;

as she held him—hold him;

though it's not enough,

hold him, in the chasm

of the last room

on the longest night,

her brother weeps

into the wall.

hold.