Third grade lunch hour. I walk to the cafeteria, wait in line, then head back with my tray of food: a small carton of milk, a watery stew, and a piece of warm, buttered, white bread. Halfway there, I see him, my five-year-old brother waiting after kindergarten. Skinny and shy, with his hesitant half smile, he looks for me each day, and I give him the slice of bread to eat on his walk home.

afterimage 
of a shooting star 
the nourishment 
of memories   

Years later, coping with schizoaffective disorder, his blood sugar spiked into the 500s, a side effect of medication. He died in his sleep, leaving a home filled with the detritus of crisis and beautiful artwork he made over the years.

packing up my brother’s house 
letting go 
of what I cannot save   

Bio: Ce Rosenow