Mom

[Miley]

a melodrama
where the voice is cut
from its body:

           first my dog, now my grandma?

red drunk she cursed
her wounds and the houses
that held them and the houses
that held them and

today it's spring
we survived
good years
and new griefs
and know new dogs that are old
and growing older and

how does one write about your brother?

the pictures in the hallway are quieted
by fleeting hours
and the valley out the window
grows so dark it's
as though it were never there
as though it weren't 
someone's eternity and 

what i really mean is
how do i write about your brother
without writing about mine?

i imagine myself stepping out 
that valley-window
not believing in anything
but moonlight.