Brother

Laura A.  Walker

 

dedicated to those at Virginia Tech, 4/16/07

 

You could drown

In his irises.

Saline slides along his face,

Each drop, a bullet.

Piercing pain,

Icy metal that sears:

Sounds, Screams, Shots,

Suicide.

The tears catch in his stubble.

 

He shaves first thing in the morning but this morning there was no first thing as the morning ran into the night which ran into the afternoon which ran into the morning where the first thing he did was shave.

 

His eyes ache.

It has been ages

Since his tear ducts have exercised

Like this.

Million dollar mantras:

Massacre, Tragedy, Bloodbath

Bodies.

Friends.

Memories

echo, resounding melodies,

songs drowned out by the

BANGBANGBANG

By the

Sounds, Screams, Shots

As the metal shards

Shift, tracing his

Cheeks, jaws, lips,

Catching in his stubble. 

 

 

Copyright 2007 by the Tipton Poetry Journal.

All rights remain the exclusive property of the individual poet and may not be used without their permission.

 

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