There are as many worlds as
there are people
and I’m watching my little brother’s
world being stuffed inside a football helmet
tight and safe
and now it is being carried off onto a
football field by his body.
The rain is rubbing its knuckles on the
tops of heads and on sleeves
Our ancestors sit in the stadium lights
a quiet cloud of witnesses.
On Friday nights angels stoop down
over football fields to wash their hands
in the shouts and shame of people
and sing their lessons
and I am doing my part
not for them but for my brother.
He is kicking a field goal and I get more
nervous for him than I ever do for myself.
And then I hate Fridays because he misses
and I would rather be the one missing
so I think about how many brothers have
missed field goals and
how many brothers there are
compared to angels
and how many worlds that is.