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  • Losing
  • Kerrin McCadden (bio)

My brother is lost. I can't find my brother. I say it over again—when I lost my brother. A back road I knew once and now

can't find. A specific wave on John's Pond. The last one we sawthere, the blue-lipped sleep of overdose. He goes from one

office to the next, and no one will return my calls. One dayhe was somewhere. I know he must have been. The difference

in weight between alive and dead. Do the old experiment again.Weigh the escaped soul. Let it have gone somewhere. Let it

have packed one bag. Is my brother any amount of atoms at all,fending for themselves? If I keep saying, I have lost my brother,

is there a corollary? Do I make way-finding? A compass,a geocache, a crashed plane on his island, his black box full

of laughter? Every next syllable said by everyone is my brother.Silent mouths—these are where dead brothers live. I keep

a jar of nails like a bouquet of denial. Life ends with us findingleaves underfoot. Fend for ourselves, I'm saying. There is music

everywhere. There must be a bit of his breath left. Put the needlein the track again. My brother, somewhere, knows the tune. [End Page 89]

Kerrin McCadden

Kerrin McCadden is the author of Landscape with Plywood Silhouettes, winner of the New Issues Poetry Prize and the Vermont Book Award (2014); and Keep This to Yourself, winner of the Button Poetry Prize (forthcoming). A National Endowment for the Arts Literature Fellow and recipient of the Sustainable Arts Writing Award, her poems have appeared in Best American Poetry, Poem-a-Day, and recently in American Poetry Review, Los Angeles Review, New England Review, and elsewhere. She lives in South Burlington, Vt.



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