By Kristy Webster
Dear Brother,
I want to know, are you happy?
It’s been too long.
I’ll admit disappointment.
The white horse died centuries ago
and the sword rusted before
I ever held it in my hand.
The last time we talked,
I was fasting in the desert.
I was ten days in and sure
I was hallucinating.
But you were there,
intense and beautiful as always.
You offered me bread
and I refused.
You implored me to
drink water from your
cupped hands,
and I turned away from you.
Not even our Father knows
that you stayed with me for the
remaining thirty days, and we
reminisced over the old times.
You reminded me
how hypnotized by the sun,
our sisters’ faces turned
dark and leathery,
and our brothers turned to women
to bury their boredom.
“Come with me,” you begged.
You stretched your arm out as if
to offer me the world, but it wasn’t
how people think.
Your wings caught fire,
and I left you there.
I could not bear to watch you burn.
Copyright Webster 2020