Tag: Sara Reynolds Cox

My Brother, David

Do you remember

bleach-blond David?

Hair becoming green from the potent chlorine?

Boyhood David

Athletic-swimmer David?

Anchor of the dream team relay

Baseball-jersey-all-year-long David?

Touchdown, homerun, all-star David.

Still get glimpses of reckless David

unfazed-by-limits David

tackled-a-kid-in-third-grade-for-calling-our-mama-ugly David,

bought-a-dog-without-anyone’s-permission David.

“Hey, dad”

called three-year-old David

no-fears David

already travelling down the steep hill

on my scooter, David.

No helmet, no knee pads

Daredevil David.

You’ll need patience for mouthy David.

Anti-authority David.

Walked out of Spanish class because she wouldn’t let him piss –

ISS-once-a-year David.

Unplugged the teacher’s minifridge –

poke-the-bear David.

Sweating rivers, dusk to dawn

‘cause he’s hard working, that David.

Skoal cans in the truck bed

trying-to-kick-the-habit David

Daring David

Speak-up-for-the-weak David

Named for our granddaddy, David.

Not too cool to teach Bible school

Friend-to-the-friendless David.

God-fearing David

My brother, David

The Last Poem I Ever Wrote

I think my Zoloft stopped working.

Pen in hand. Words in head.

But blank canvas – blank canvases

Maybe my Zoloft stopped working…

Or we’ve had 12-too-many rainy days

And the canvases haven’t held paint since May

              Or April

                            Or March

Yes, I’m certain that my Zoloft stopped working.

But I zip the sides of my skull open

And drop 100 milligrams in, like a child swallowing candy.

They dissolve in stomach acid

And happy chemicals float to my brain

              where there are

                            only blank canvases.

NOVUS Literary and Arts Journal
Lebanon, TN