amanda cunningham

He Wears Rose Petals

When I first woke, he was sleeping
Long days, nights in a garden.
He has no perception of time
(Hands do not circle his face-
It is blank with peace.)

When I dream, he wakes
For my memories that lie:
A truth in make-believe costumes,
Smile sweet with telling eyes.

Moonlit me, the unflinching scent of tired
In a cage with a broken lock
He was pulled from-made not-
To come to me, sticky with rose petals
To be in my-asleep-picture-book eye.

He was sleeping when I woke
Up and breathed and screamed
From the light and cold-the red on my eyes.
He is deaf to my blindness-
That day to this-
From smelling everything at once.

He never leaves the garden, he won't,
Carrying vision-globes with pupil islands-too wide.
"Brother, you're too comfortable being down
And up at the same time."
I never knew him, not once
When he wasn't without breathing and clocks.