Emily Harrison

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And

into the unholy ground I am sweeping my brother
missing all the action I am too busy patting
the velvet layer of soil over our soft heads
quickly disappearing my arm to the underneath my new-born
brother is laughing mouth full of the living and wet tire tracks he
does not know it has rained every one of his days my
mother is inside the window waltzing with my father
bumping into dodgy appliances my brother’s tiny white socks
hanging on the handle of the back door opening
wide for the late sunset the neighbours and this:
the first time he goes for my mother’s throat she hands him the shovel

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EMILY HARRISON is a poet and writer from Swindon. Her debut pamphlet Grief Stitches is forthcoming from Broken Sleep Books. She lives and teaches in Hackney.