by Sean DesVignes
With this brick wall placed where it’s supposed
to be, we have come, fashionable & short,
driven by the ghost in the left hand corner.
We orchestrate a circus of the unsaid. Sean is
holding the hand of the dead. Tygen hangs
on to the nearest pulse: Brandon, my brother,
that needle of a grin. Maybe the ghost
represents the woman he will impregnate,
the responsibility that will sit at his feet
like a briefcase & all of the Alabama
he’s moving to. Looking now at how Tygen
clamps at Brandon’s neck reminds me of all
the fights I had with Brandon. In each one,
the heroic scene is me, choking him
to the ground, never wanting him to leave.
Sean DesVignes is an Afro-Caribbean writer from Brooklyn, NY. His work appears or is forthcoming in Vinyl, Kweli Journal, PANK, & Radius. His literary honors include fellowships & scholarships from Cave Canem, Callaloo & the Minnesota Northwoods Writers Conference.