by Stephen Tuttle
Some brothers plow while others herd. Some brothers sow while others corral. Some brothers are the spit of their father, some the shadow. Some brothers make an offering of finest fruits and find abundance. Some withhold and give birth to poverty. Some brothers kneel while others lament. Some brothers cry for vengeance. Some brothers walk, hand in hand, into pastures. Some brothers lift a stone to strike. Some brothers carry a curse. Some brothers, having lost the thread, vow never to return. Some brothers are mourned, are missed. Some brothers are born to fill an absence, entering the world as compensation. Some mothers tell stories. Once there was a plowman. Once there was a shepherd. Some sons ask, And what about me? Some mothers say, Once there was a boy, perfect in every way. Some mothers warn brothers against brothers, saying, Keep watch for a wild man. Some mothers spy sons stumbling home. If a son asks a mother who that was, there at the gate, some sad-eyed mothers say, Just a man who lost his way, no business of ours.
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Stephen Tuttle’s fiction and prose poetry have appeared in Ploughshares, The Threepenny Review, The Southern Review, The Nation, The Gettysburg Review, and elsewhere. He teaches at Brigham Young University.
Image: Paul Blenkhorn
ID: abstract blue-green painting with gold stripe.
Psaltery & Lyre 