Ask Me about Love

Ask me about love and I’ll tell youabout peeing myself under the stairswhen my father came home. Howmy brother’s breath echoed in our house,in enclosed, dusty spaces.

I’ll tell you how long the night lastedwhen dad reigned overhead, breakingbrittle toys: plastic cop cars, things with hinges,glass jars with nails in them.I’ll tell you how hard we held each other,

our breaths when he went silent, the quietlike a swarm buzzing through air,a furious static.

*

I’ll tell you to make someone cry.I’ll tell you about fourth grade, twistingRussell’s arm behind him, turning himuntil he saw a new side of himself.

I’ll tell you how our teacher hated him, too,how we laughed at his mewling,a primal pack of children tearing into soft skin,unified against his high socks, his sharp elbows.

I’ll tell you how he struggled at first, the desperatewiggling terror he could choke up. I’ll tell youhow small we made him.

*

I’ll tell you how I let dad hit mein place of my smaller brother.How still I stood, letting his violence take rootin the tension of my knees; how tight I curledwhen I fell, letting him kick me, snap the ribs

around the pulp of my heart.I’ll tell you how I started leaning into his wild swings, letting my purpled eyemarinate until it leaked blue-blackout the back of my head.

I’ll tell you how potenta bone bruise is, how burningcopper filled my mouth.