Like the Moth Into the Flame

My brother’s back is a history of scars

Each one dated to a pain

Each pain titled after a lesson

Each lesson, a memory with fear for shoes

So he runs

All he knows is to sleep unsleeping

Watch for the shadows at his door

Find an empty tank, to wait for the sun

Because the morning has no shadows

No scars to brand him

I heard it one night

Like the moth to a flame, I followed the sound from my bed

To find my brother’s jaw locked in a scream

His back peppered with welts,

Some opened like ripe fruit

With blood for nectar,

Stroke after stroke

I screamed until we started to sound the same

I haven’t slept since

Haven’t spoken since

But when i find my voice

I want my father to tell me,

what the lesson was.