On A Trip To Visit My Brother In St. Louis
by Brittany Cavallaro
I sail between my wheels and roof: a perfect ship
for solitude. My brother stirs between
white sheets, tonight, and clear IVs wind up
and down his arms. Three weeks ago, he sat
beside; we drove through cornfields in the dark.
“Tell me one you know by heart,” he sighed, and
so I delved through nursery rhymes, Kerouac
and Baudelaire, but still he twined his hands
around his hair. “Will it fall out?” I shook
my head. Tonight, my mother circles scars
around his head with fingertips. He waves
away her candy bars, her magazines
and storybooks. “Tell me one you know by heart,”
he says, and with his prompting, she begins.