We Remember The Same Spring Chill

by Michael Zunenshine

We remember the same spring chill
alone on the wet picnic table
on the terrace of my namesake church,
and I had a beer, but
I forget what you had, and
you asked if I loved you, but
I forget what I said;

That afternoon was the mutant child
born violent and rushed of a reckless myth,
we couldn’t confront the helplessness
we’d made together,
not knowing how to hold it
or stop its still-human cries;

We’d shared so much
of silliness and skin,
but you made me believe
your hide was too precious;
today I dress up in thicker skins
and my blood riots hot
Beneath their mixed messages;

Whatever we shared has been orphaned,
split into two separate beasts,
each swearing to crush
his brother’s heart.