“Sons of Cain,” by Benjamín Naka-Hasebe Kingsley, appears in the Winter 2019 Issue of MQR.
Kentucky sky flints
the steel of storm heads
blue fields
our intentions
black I hurl the axe handle
all nine years of my elbow
into the bowl
of my brother’s orbital
socket crack &
thunder his good eye
consumed
he screams
& I sprint
field-long & ducking
each rock he throws
shears the soft heads
of bluebells
his rage outruns my fear
& when he catches
me with an orange of stone
caught in the crepuscular
muscle of wind
braids our long hair skyward
he crushes my shoulder
his neck in the hollow
of my arm & the rain
speckles us purple
inside sheaves
of tall grass
wind song
his body’s breath pinned
beneath what muscle
I have grown
into the silence
of that dawn
the downpour
of his stoppered breathing
& before I understand
it is as if we are
in embrace
when his body gives
limp
to my chest
there I walk up a hill
& look down
on my brother
the body
of his eighth summer
the earth spins
itself slow until
he wakes & I go
down to him & weep
in his arms
How did we get
all the way out here?
he asks.
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This poem appears in the Winter 2019 Issue of MQR.
