The Caul of Wasps
for Jacob, my brother
Once, when we lived in the orchard,
I pulled a tarp from a motorcycle frame
and found a nest in the engine’s hollow:
a storm cloud, black and bright
with the jut, flap, shudder of wings--
in my alarm, a stirring nearly still.
I saw it, then it swallowed me.
Now listen to my secret: I came to life
in that dagger-dance, like a plunge
into deep water. I was electric, quick
as wind or a foal stung to braying,
swaddled in a caul of wasps.
Stay, my brain stuttered inside
this coming-alive, stay right here.
As if, for the first time, I’d drawn breath.
But Father scooped me into his arms,
ran for the trailer door as I bawled
like murder. That was the last of all I felt
except the squalls of pain. That night,
I smarted in the dark we shared—thin
as a splinter. Rain hurled against
the roof, the pecan trees creaked.
We lay wide-eyed, listening for twisters,
as I told you stories, my whispers
swarming like a fever dream of angels.
Our goodbyes were being born.
Previously appeared in One (February 2016).
An earlier version of this poem appeared in the journal One.
Copyright 2016 by Joshua Lavender.
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Copyright 2016 by Joshua Lavender.
Back to Poems