EVENING DISPATCH

 

I swatted, quite

absentmindedly, a fly

pausing on a patch

of dusty window glass,

the fat yellowing

sleeve of old newspaper

suddenly a weapon,

the cobalt sheen

and barely discernible

wings of its body leaving

a small apostrophe

of blood not far from

my brother's face

and name printed near

the top of the page, fading,

startling me anew,

as if I had just stumbled

upon this news, as if

I had been unaware --

blissfully so --

for all this time.