I remember holding a small,
warm body
He smelled like innocence and comfort
I remember our sister telling me
he was in jail somewhere in the Midwest
for a series of burglaries
Gregor was three the year he fell out of the cherry tree
He broke both arms and they kept him in the hospital a week
In a room with a litle boy who'd lost an arm to a tractor
The paper printed a picture of the boy with one arm
feeding Gregor with a spoon
Gregor was five
the year Mother started screaming to her boyfriend
that the transformers outside the window
were going to explode
because demons were coming over the electric wires
I remember his small mute face in Dad's back room
owl eyes peeking out of neglected darkness
I remember his small pale face at Grandmother's house
but I can't remember the smell of innocence and comfort
any more