Poetry Break: The Gate

The Gate (M.A. Reilly, Tuscany, 2009)

The Gate

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BY MARIE HOWE

I had no idea that the gate I would step through 

to finally enter this world 

would be the space my brother's body made. He was 

a little taller than me: a young man 

but grown, himself by then, 

done at twenty-eight, having folded every sheet, 

rinsed every glass he would ever rinse under the cold 

and running water. 

This is what you have been waiting for, he used to say to me. 

And I'd say, What? 

And he'd say, This—holding up my cheese and mustard sandwich. 

And I'd say, What? 

And he'd say, This, sort of looking around.