Erin Rodoni

Little Brother

1.

Shadow, pest, first friend, you
would have followed me anywhere.

Up the pale limbs
of walnuts that thin into umber

leaves at dusk. Into the vacant
lot next door, we tunneled

waist-high foxtails, unearthed
cat skulls. In the wood

shed, I lifted every log.
With the same bravado,

I swept your room
for nightmares. Shadow,

2.

pest, first friend, you shadow
would have followed me anywhere. Pest, first

friend, you lift the sun up the pale limbs
of walnuts that thin into umber streaked tresses

to your nose, your lips
as she leaves at dusk I would follow.

Into the vacant anywhere
lot next door, we tunneled as she explains

waist-high foxtails, unearthed cat skulls.
Better by my own hand, Babe. In the wood

shed, I lifted by my own hand every log
with the same bravado as before bed Babe

I swept your room for nightmares. Better to
give it away. I recognize the way

as she explains you pad your chest
with breath better to give it away

to appear stronger than your frame as she
explains and you tell her whoever gets her hair

your nose, your lips is the luckiest girl.
First friend, I never knew better

what we’d do with a monster than to watch it
or a black widow spider watch it slowly. Shadow

3.

pest, first friend, you lift the sun-
streaked tresses to your nose,

your lips, as she explains—
Better by my own hand, Babe.

Better to give it away
than watch it slowly

clog the drain. I recognize
the way you pad your chest

with breath to appear stronger
than your frame

and you tell her whoever gets her hair
is the luckiest girl.

Pest, I never knew
what we’d do with a monster

or a black widow spider, only
if such things existed it had to be better

to see them first. Friend, I’m right
behind you. Let my fear

make you brave.

Erin Rodoni

Erin Rodoni’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Best New Poets 2014, Colorado Review, Cimarron Review, Ninth Letter, The Pinch, Verse Daily, Cider Press Review, and Tupelo Quarterly, among others. In 2013 she won an Intro Journals Award from AWP. She is the Poetry Editorial Assistant for Literary Mama and lives in Point Reyes, CA, with her husband and young daughter.

 

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