Genesis 4:10
Forgive me, my brother;
or do not. I’m sorry
for envying your hands, the way
they never failed to be gentle
when they ran through the wolf’s
fur, and the wolf fell to slumber;
when they wrung the lamb’s neck
who felt no need to bleat
in pain for her mother, having
understood the wringing. Do you
Remember, in the garden, when
we pressed our palms together?
Mine were calloused and caked in dirt,
and the smoothness I felt in yours
made me weep. In your arms I
sank, the dirt stuck, my eyes
bloodshot. When we returned home,
our father asked what had happened,
and I never explained it,
and you never could.
Forgive me, my brother,
for knowing you will.
I am walking toward nowhere,
eating fruit from a gnarled branch,
and if I may ever return,
I will tell our Father to look
for the bed of daisies rustling
even in the iciest wind, and there
you will rest forever, my brother,
bloodless as you came
