I did not speak plainly about Alton’s sweet kiss
for a long, long time,
for fear of condemnation.

There’s always some risk in the telling,
and sometimes “yielding” can be wrong—
as in, “yield not to temptation”—

except, of course, in church, which we weren’t.
But why not tell the truth?
I realize those who see only “black and white”

might not welcome this evidence,
even now, with our kinship grown large.
Neither of us thought my body was offered.

A single whisker on my friend’s dark face
pierced my uplifted cheek.  While his hand was
shaking my hand, my other hand was covering his.

And yet these words house only the feeble echo
of the love my brother kindly gave,
as he snatched me from my pallid world.

 

 

first published in The Lone Wolf Review