He speaks in toothpicks.
Spells the T R U T H as he
whittles the wood
till it forms the curves of individual letters
bending the linear to fit personal ideals.
His own sprouting human.
He can level you with his eyes
and with a whisper
fell the largest strongest tree in the forest
but he doesn't know it yet.
He has made me feel the guilt of ten thousand felonies
with the best of intentions.
My brother is made of magic.
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2 comments:
this was wonderfully visual. i like, i like.
Laura, this is incredible. Short, sweet, powerful, vibrant, it makes me want to meet/know/adore your brother! (although I'm sorry you feel guilty about something. Is it too many Christmas cookies? Because I'm way guilty. Wow, Corissa. That was lame.)
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