the pilgrims

The Pilgrims

I remember those days,

While driving home, my brother’s fourth tooth

and suitcase

split. I was riding in the van,

pulling through our street, in the dark.

Where was Sam? Far away by then.

Then David had his own wills. They

were too wholesome to kick-

drinking, being roofeed up or something.

That’s when they’d found him, a restless

man at a road, who called the ambulance.

I thought back to when I’d hid

trips to Bradenton, when I’d hid my phone

calls, when I’d moved to Port Orange.

I’d settled with Kassie, went swimming after

runs, in dry-like dessert days.

That was our home at 18, me looking up,

Hoping for Santa Cruz, but screaming

inside as I went.

I made it- the blue sky that was hot under the thumbs,

The make believe castles that rode Thunder Mountain.

In the beginning it was that red-head girl who laughed

when she swam, who wore bathing suits

to tan in frost.

Like my love, he was swarmed with things

undulating, and it occurred to us we were in

water. It happened each time I left INS

and it happened when he left

D.C.

Some may see-  you choosing partners like your

dances, with brothers.

I did. You go in circles enough, spinning lines

from taped songs,

you reach out for measuring sticks

that rose you up,

when you were trying

to find your age.

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