I lose a brother
& gain a memory
a tooth cracks
before splitting
& I am gifted
a phantom pain
perhaps when I
am older this
all will escape
my memory;
maybe
all I will feel
is the reverberation
of late-summer,
late-night light--
neon fingers rounding
the curvature of
my cheeks or streetlights
igniting the low-hanging
limbs of oak trees &
recalling each hand
that left its gentle
hues on my skin
I wrinkle out a prayer
to these close planets
—that I will
feel them when
all else burns out
& gain a memory
a tooth cracks
before splitting
& I am gifted
a phantom pain
perhaps when I
am older this
all will escape
my memory;
maybe
all I will feel
is the reverberation
of late-summer,
late-night light--
neon fingers rounding
the curvature of
my cheeks or streetlights
igniting the low-hanging
limbs of oak trees &
recalling each hand
that left its gentle
hues on my skin
I wrinkle out a prayer
to these close planets
—that I will
feel them when
all else burns out
William Bortz (he/him) is a husband, poet, and editor living in Des Moines, IA. His work appears or is forthcoming in Okay Donkey, Oxidant Engine, Empty Mirror, Turnpike Magazine, Back Patio Press, and others. His book THE GRIEF WE'RE GIVEN will be published February of 2021.