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Smolder

Grandpa,
I'm having you peeled from my eyes,
stored in a chest with macaroni and glitter stick figures.

I'm losing the color of the blanket I shit on.

Grandma pulled weeds that day,
then settled on the porch,
rocking her rum and coke.

My cousin and his wife fought that night.
When he split his head on the hotel rail,

Saint Helens blew her top,
killing eleven who didn't take her seriously.

When I was learning to draw,
I drew the same simple house over and over.

Now I sit here and blow into a beer bottle
to see how sensitively I can extract its pitch.

My husband jokes it's in my heritage
to make music out of anything I touch.

Brandy Milowsky

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