Poem of the Month

One Word Rime

My brother was a selfish thing,
from an accursed people.
I, an enemy, praised him.
As a joke, he answered.
My brother was, as he always was,
running out into the rime,
the ground, dim, like mustard
taken to powder and scattered.
He was a man, doubled-
was hale and healthy
but fell without warning
and alone, sank.
My father wallowed in golden
answers, always thought of God,
and fell faster that way-
with all heaven’s glory.
I dreamed he would conjure
beauty with this,
lead me from
the endless sight
of bodies falling,
or running through dark hills.
“Brother! The duke’s daughter?”
“She laughed again, did not keep her word…”
“Why didn’t she?” “She ridiculed
my pride, sister.”
“Brother, her dress!
How her coats flowered at her feet,
all that fur and satin
on her shoulders, breasts, and hips.
She was a bell inside velvet.
She was made of caramel,
but what she brought here
wasn’t sweet.
With each smile it ran,
anguished with many worries,
purple visits,
metered courage, many lies.
From her fur, his grasping
hand was ripped,
and only just before he’d fallen.
It takes a million years to fall down
because things slacken,
loosen, before they harden.
Sometimes I’ll push a stone
in night’s pull to the rime,
over that cliff, brother,
where the eagles come.
What is it like there,
in the ground, all alone?
Intending to trick me,
do you await me?
My brother wasted a grave
and knows little rest.
Hell is a tomb with a dark, nodding
brow…a final nod.
Freezing rain rusts the air
and I awake noiselessly
so as not to wake my father
who dreams about the same things
but he, all night, warbles
distantly through dark gardens
waiting for thought to return…
That Sunday was a sunken day
The rime hard under thick fog
like a bed for a man
dreaming of death.
Only she and I are aware
in some farther way
which of us he ran from
and, not seeing through the night, fell.
My brother was a selfish thing,
from an accursed people.
I, an enemy, praised him
as a joke, he answered.

-Nina Alvarez