about the pond—its scum
or the unmade bed in my haste
to see it this morning. My brother
sends a snap of his contoured
face, made up in a familiar
algae color bathroom 1,002
miles away. As a child I
watched my belly disappear
below the tub’s meniscus
now outside, now inside.
My head, my body’s aft,
confused and dry, watching what
is what was and continues to be.
I imagine my brother
with cotton pads dragging
green shadows from his eyes.