A Lighthouse

Written by Max Flett

I’ve been drowned By my own brother. Tonight He comes from a sailor’s grave With a makeshift lantern.

He comes lending money, Ivy-covered, Taking from the water With him a shut-eyed smile And a scalpel blade.

He’ll be peering Through a satin slip. He’ll be breathing shallow While I’m burning up both my lungs. He’ll be teaching me How they do it in France. I’ll be nodding, coughing, As if I know nothing at all.

Many times I have died before— Once with him beside her When I come into the kitchen She’s telling him He’s beautiful.

I stand there watching, Picking the food From between my teeth. Someday, I’ll be a brother. A brother knows both beauty And death to their bones— He created them.

Tomorrow He’ll miss his own room, Waking cold to the smell of My hair on his red pillow. Asking himself why

Many seasick men, Lovesick men wait wondering If that lantern clings To meet moonlit tides, Or is buried below a hollowed Promise of tomorrow.

You’re too much! She’s telling me. You’re just like him on his knees, Glimpsing to find the bathroom light From underneath the door.

The light line, it fades into the blue Of her slip when she wakes— When he knocks that door again Handing me back my lightless night With a pillow in his fist.