You say it’s alright.
I say not yet.
I think of another coffin. See a small shovel,
hear the sound of wet, loamy earth on wood.
I remember the kite he made for me. Balsa
and sandwich paper.
He taught me Morse code in the
shelter, held my hand when we were skating
on farmer Bauer’s pond.
Avoided me like the plague
when his friends were coming.
My big brother, before his wings
were tampered with, had flight on his mind.
Once there were blue horses on a far-away meadow
he would never reach.
Rose Mary Boehm is a German-born British national living and writing in Lima, Peru. Her poetry has been published widely in mostly US poetry reviews (online and print). She was twice nominated for a Pushcart. Her fourth poetry collection, The Rain Girl, was published by Chaffinch Press in 2020. Website: https://www.rose-mary-boehm-poet.com/