Posing,
There he was:
My broad-shouldered brother,
Arms hulked by regiment,
Squeezing the left
Around my sister’s back,
Hiding the right from sight.
She beams proud—
A graduation reached.
He grins content—
Glasses comb hair above a piercing stare;
A black shirt hugs a puffed-out chest.
Caught,
There he is:
My shirtless brother,
Arms sleeved in faded ink,
Slumping the right
Across my sister’s shoulders,
Dangling a beer in the left.
She smiles uncertain—
A vacation interrupted.
He smirks unkempt—
Storm clouds hang under gray eyes;
A blanket of flesh sheaths the ribs.
2 comments:
Here's a poem about my brother. The first stanza could kick off "My Brother's Father"; the second stanza could end it. Enjoy!
I like the subtle diffrences in the 2 stanzas. Posing vs. Caught. I always struggle to mirror stanzas (if that makes any sense) , but you do it perectly. Something that I notice in your poems is the beauty and the well-craftedness (if that's a word) of your words. Every word works perfectly. I always feel that my worse are just a random pile of junk, but there's a polish in your poetry that impresses the hell out of me.
Post a Comment