Brother Tongue
Before twin beds grew to full size
we whispered colors to the dark.
When pole light was the only light
in the house, stretching bright ribbons
through the hall, we tossed a book
with thick cardboard pages across
the room from one bed to another.
A child held one balloon by a loopy
string on each page with a single
primary color printed underneath.
I lay under cartoon blankets lingering
on a balloon long enough for my brother
to tune to my silence so he could guess
which color I had chosen.
There was a language we once had
before miles and gravestones stood
between us, before twin beds grew
to full, when we whispered colors
to the dark.
~
Travis Stidham hosts his own poetry series, Treehouse Poets Series, the first Saturday of every month in Hazard, Kentucky. He is a graduate of Eastern Kentucky University filling the empty spaces in his work schedule with reading, writing, and carousing with other writers.
~
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