from “Benevolence” by Matthew Dickman at Narrative; a real heart-breaker
Even as I watched my older brother
skin knee after knee, break bone after bone—
always surviving, always
being able to bite down on what
the world had given him, what he had made
of it, and still walk along the bases, the streets, the rugs
of countless therapists, still swallow
the glowing pills humming in the bottom of countless paper cups,
his arms bound to the bed by cotton straps,
the razor he once slid along his arm like a beam of light—
I couldn’t manage the smallest cut,
the most laughable bruise. When I walked out
into the backyard and held the rock in my hand
I wanted so badly not just to throw it, but to hit something and make it hurt.
Difficult Degrees 