first--
my big brother came through the door, hoodie up,
L close behind--
a farm girl,
small features
warm eyes
Bean boots and rough hands,
i could smell the cigarettes and the new cash in his pocket.
he showed me the pipe he'd fashioned out of driftwood
the one thick silver band on his left pointer finger glinting warmth from the dining room light
and in a drunken haze i wondered if there was anything in the world he couldn't do.
second--
she set the canvas bag on the counter,
and out came heirloom apples,
and mittens
and fresh honeycomb in an old plastic container,
label worn and peeling from all the hours it had traveled, and i thought suddenly and strangely
of all the times it'd been placed in bags as an afterthought, left in the backseat of a golden texas-plated '95 corolla
*(an alien up here)
warming between biodegradable soaps and pottery filled with sprouting seeds,
how many raindrops it had shed sitting on the front steps of an old clapboard house.