1: Letter Home

                        About our
Poor mother, Brother:
Under her crimson robes, her skin – once milky white, now
dull. Translucent egg shell, cracked where the morphine seeps in.
Drifting out of slumber and
Into pain, she lulls her memories to sleep.

Night. I watch her dream.
Ghostly and gorgeous, she awes away the monsters.
                        She had ravaged her fears years ago:
                        two wars and oceans rowed and children set to flee.

So that her father’s god might hear, she whispers her wish: take me
home.                                                                                                                         (I try to
Ease her burden. Still...)
Lovely and lucid, she drifts to slumber once again,
Lulls her memories to sleep.

                        Our poor mother, Brother.