“I have an older brother I don’t know / he could be anywhere”-
Mythological Beauty, Adrienne Lenker
“i have an older brother i don’t know” – after Cate Marvin’s “After the Last Fright”
By: August Della Donna
i dug my fingernails into the dining table.
my brother passed out in the driver’s seat, drooling.
after ten minutes passed, my mother slipped
out the front door, and her frantic voice woke him up.
the sun stayed caught on broken wooden blinds.
i carved my name into my math homework.
the stained kitchen counter took the blame.
he slumped through the doorway to the counter
towards a container of Costco black & white cookies.
every bite spilled down, smearing on his white undershirt.
i spent the next day wondering what would happen next.
the house groaned with every soft step i took.
my father waited for him to curl up and die downtown.
some things would never change, apparently.
i told my friends there would be no coming over again.
Please, it’s me, just let me in, he said through the door.
my palms sweat as my fingers twitched over the lock.
the next day after school my window screen was torn.
scrapes from my grandfather’s ladder scarred the paint.
the house whispered to me about leaving when i slept.
nineteen
By: August Della Donna
i ask myself what it must have felt like, for you
and each of your ten fingertips to be so far dug into
every fold of my brain. holding me up by threads:
my 23-year-old puppeteer, all control in your hands.
the more you pushed and pulled, the strings became
tangled and cut off circulation to my limbs. i wonder
what sense of control you must have lacked so deeply
to wrap your hands around my neck in two six-month
increments. and to no one’s fault but our own, nineteen
almost ended me. sophomoric tendencies made
me only pity myself after restless nights and first,
second, third, ‘break-ups’. this year became an era
where i suffered in attempt to love you.
callous
By: August Della Donna
the saliva off your tongue, in my mouth
always tastes like American Spirits
even when you tell me you haven’t smoked
all day. the smell lives in my scarf, beneath
my chipped nails, that find their way around both
sides of your face, then into the soft curls
at the back of your neck. my hands move to
the vertebrae of your spine: gentle touch
becoming long desperate claws to hold
on to you from the worn passenger seat
of your brand-new-used-car. it’s only here
i’ve come to know paradise, illuminated
by the green light of the radio, the smell
of your cologne breathed into my hair,
and my hands aching to be closer to you
Author Bio: August Della Donna is a recent college graduate with a BA in English, where they concentrated in Creative Writing. Their writing focuses on the relationship to the self and growth in love following trauma. Currently, they are applying to MFA programs to continue their studies.
Navy Pen 