A poem for Sunday
Better than the minivan you slept
a winter in, American Legion
parking lot, siphoning gas for heat,
but not much better. Cinder-block
apartment building on Homestead,
a couple miles from mom’s. Got in
through the window. Waded through
the cans and bedding. Left it open
for the smell. Tried not to look
at the stain. Tried to be respectful
like in a museum. Stood so long
in front of your dresser, my brother
touched my elbow. Everything
we touch, you touched. Your socks.
Your coat. The cash in your pockets.
The cellophane from a fresh pack.
Zippo with a carving of a whale,
proud ship in the distance.