Envelopes.

ten minute brooklyn freewrite.

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All of my brothers ex girlfriends agree on one thing;
when he kissed them, he was thirsty.
I meet them all in one day
use my entire weeks pay on coffee they won’t drink
I give myself a twelve minute rest between each girl
spend it pouring sugar sachets into the mouth of my skirt.
When they come into the coffee shop
I stand up, catch the sugar between my toes.
They hug me harder than they should
we don’t talk about all the things they know about my home
the alcoholic step father
my mother’s miscarriages
whatever it was that happened to my brother
to make him so angry.
They ask how is he?
Is it true what they’re saying he did?
When will he be out?
Did he say anything about me?
I count the eight year sentence over my hands like missing children
I see his last girlfriend at the end, her nose begins to bleed
I sit across the table from her
comparing her skin to the manila envelopes
his letters visit me in.

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