I dream a lot about my brother’s wife. I haven’t told him, though.
He might think it’s weird, since he thinks I’m weird and since
he doesn’t have a girlfriend
and since there haven’t been arranged marriages in Idaho for hundreds
and hundreds of years. But if I told him, I would talk about
the way her teeth though they aren’t all white shine
in the sun and how well she can dig up onions with bare hands
and how pretty her pale wrists are beneath the cuff.
In my dreams she is always waving, always thinking of me
through the window as they drive
away. I love her. My big brother
is a lucky man.
there isn’t much time, she said, she said
get going. But
where? From no one to someone,
the sea of faces in this watery world are too many to name.
Someone to claim, and a little land. But
my mother has always been bossy and this time
I think. Though I’m afraid
of losing time too, of pushing so many buttons
and shifting gears so many times, that
with all the stop-start forward- and reversing I end up
running over the prize.
End up in neutral. With tire tracks
in the grass
and glassy eyes
and a watchface cracked in two.
He saw the dawn crack. Spoke
a sentence or two to the kitchen table
and went to work. In the midwest
you are always in the center of things
and never in the center of anything. Wheat
grows too high to tell. He saw
day break. And his core, still whole,
trembled like a seed.