A Twine Soaked in Blood

Poetry Sep 18, 2024

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.

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