Memory
of my mother
with a sponge
and a bucket
of a bleach.
How she’d
weep
while scrubbing
words
from white tile
my mute
sister scrawled
in crayon
and ask
for a melody,
the pitch
of a bird,
to rise
from my lips
and lead
her out,
into the
radiant snow.
*
Memory
of my sister
losing
words
like miniature
combs
and my
mother
behind
her
picking up
pieces.
But never
the right
color
right comb,
always
the wrong
word:
happy instead
of help
wither
instead
of water,
the not
of her
tongue
turned
to know.
*
Memory
of my ear against
the ground
& my mother
above me
begging for answers.
How the nest
began
with a crack
in the concrete
then moved
up the walls,
like fears
in the form
of a question.
*
Memory
of the ghostly
croon of Emmylou
while my mom
clipped mint
and pruned bovine
and collected
peas so sweet
I thought
of the fair
and cold coke
and cotton candy
shared between
my sister’s
hands and mine,
while we circled
sky in summer
and saw nothing
but blue
nothing but birds,
weaving
their blurred
calligraphy.
*
Luke Johnson’s poems can be found at Kenyon Review, Narrative Magazine, Florida Review, Frontier, Cortland Review, Poetry Northwest and elsewhere. His manuscript in progress was recently named a finalist for the Jake Adam York Prize, The Levis through Four Way Press, The Vassar Miller Award and is forthcoming fall 2023 from Texas Review Press. You can find more of his poetry at lukethepoet.com or connect at Twitter at @Lukesrant.
