A Twine Soaked in Blood

by Mikayla Henry

My brother’s blood stains my
heart,
but the blood of us both lies on your
hands.

The heat of his hide –
once the scent of mother’s oils,
later pungent with dirt, entrails, paternal glory
still lingers in my nostrils.
He and I both failed to see the supposed monster
of this labyrinth, had yet to enter
its halls.

I now stand
loved
by neither man,
nor monster.
His kiss intoxicatingly sweet,
and the fruits of his wine less tart
than the salted taste of the sea and your severance –
I was merely the twine that led
to my brother’s tomb.

My memory burns,
immortal among stars,
but you are merely attached to my story
by less than even twine.