By Sarah Snyder
Brother, maybe one day the trees and hillsides will empty and then we can share the very first season of our fracture. The first time I heard about Jesus, I wanted him for a brother, the way he healed with his hands—kind and warm not like yours. The hitting you did, the way you looked at me with no warmth. Thank god I have sisters, I have thought my whole life. There are some things in the garage from Mom and Dad that I've put in a cardboard box. Even writing your name in black letters brings sadness, how we were always a battle, how I haven't even called to tell you it's there.
Photo by Jeffrey Riley