Brother, we have grown apart. No more jumping on the beds. Then when your wife spoke of her troubles I saw your hands move, moths without flame, exactly as our father’s did while mother complained how it was too late to send the invitations. And his hands wrote out in the air an invitation. — MERRIDAWN DUCKLER
Merridawn Duckler is the author of INTERSTATE (dancing girl press) and IDIOM (Washburn Prize, Harbor Review.) She has new work in Seneca Review, Women’s Review of Books, Interim, Posit and Plume. Winner of the 2021 Beullah Rose Poetry Contest from Smartish pace. She’s an editor at Narrative and the philosophy journal Evental Aesthetics.