To the brother who tried to change the world,

From the sister who didn't:

by Jessica Smucker

After you drove away

in my little white car with your little white friends

walling the white-washed city

in mutually harmless white lies

defending, provoking

the shadows in corners,

believable to all but pinking noses

who sniffle and sneeze at the slightest commotion

 

a silent alarm--

emptying churches like witches and fire,

false prophets, true prophets, termites

and heavy flood warnings

--hummed its wrath.

 

I breathed deeply.

Fetched the broom.

Burned your papers.

Scraped your breakfast dishes one by one.

 

Will you hold my nose, love,

as I sneeze you away?

Will you cook my prophetic white lies of caution over fire

like a witch's lullaby?

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