My brother carries in raspberries from the garden, his palms stained red. I do not think about mango, my mother slipping slivers into his mouth like a bird. A car engine is left running outside. The cycling group advocated for a stop sign, advocated for a one-way street on Fifth, advocated—the city didn’t quite comply with all of their demands. A wandering cat used to play soccer with me in the driveway, he’d roll the ball under his paws, before jumping into an open car door. Herdless deer are more prone to accidents. There was no smoke. The driver didn’t know, leaving the intersection, my brother’s body was under hers. The pond at the end of the street is only a puddle on the outskirts of the park. With the weather turning, the mosquitoes blacked out the clearing and fireflies opened their abdomens. At dusk, the sun bled out, leaving the purple of my brother’s sweater soft in my hands.
Greer Engle-Roe is a student attending Bennington College majoring in literature, with a focus on creative writing. Their work appears or is forthcoming in Palette Poetry, The Albion Review, and Neologism Poetry Journal. Along with poetry, they spend many hours watching soccer, building model planes, and painting miniatures.