Golden Shovel: at the Lake’s Shore, I Sit with His Sister, Resting
Lost softness softly makes a trap for us. —Gwendolyn Brooks Michael’s skin splinters below the water’s line, his navel and all murky and lost like a city from my old life, or that scarf I’d loved, the softness with which we sink into what disappears, and the country of his groin and knees so softly already blackened. His sister snores below my hands. Her mouth makes tadpoles. Her breath wet from chemotherapy, I’ve massaged her a- sleep. Her shoulders swell their small tides. The air burns leaves. I want to want to trap her sighs, dividing the stillness, in glass, to a Mason jar: breath like smoke against a window—: for this man halved by water. But we sit in sun and grit, watch the waves which lose us.
From For Want of Water (Beacon Press, 2017). Copyright © 2017 by Sasha Pimentel. Used with permission from Beacon Press.
Sasha Pimentel is the author of For Want of Water (Beacon Press, 2017). She lives in El Paso, Texas.
Date Published: 2017-10-17
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/golden-shovel-lakes-shore-i-sit-his-sister-resting