Brother dates a white girl
- Jul 31
- 1 min read
by Claire Lee
Brother eats grass like a healing balm.
Brother holds his phone open nearly
all day, laughing unabashedly on the
bus to the east side. Brother is not
the moon, and has never been asked to be.
He licks ice cream slowly, uncaring
of the way it drips down forearms, sticks
to newly cleaned streets. Brother shears his
nails short, gnaws the cuticle down to bone.
Brother, what are you so afraid of?
Brother is welcomed into my mother’s
open arms, Brother eats her flesh as leftovers.
Brother has a signet on each finger,
a family name he carries easily in strong forearms.
The word bubbles under his skin, then pops,
dissipating into his blood like soap,
air. Brother’s tongue is dry
as desert, doesn’t feel the slow, heavy
heartbeat need to wet it. Brother has never
laid flat on a bare mattress, washed hair soaking
into naked pillows, bergamot lingering in
cracked walls. Brother makes the conscious
choice to be happy. Brother has never had her
hair stroked while asbestos rained down softly
on chapped lips. Brother dates a white girl.
Brother’s veins are as thin as the nation where
he left them, never squeezed legends
from their narrow valves.
Claire Lee is a writer and filmmaker based in Los Angeles. Their work has been featured in Ninth Letter, the Pinch, Identity Theory, Little Engines, and more. Find them at claireblee.com.
