Sweet Gum by Layla Salomon (20, Texas)

I saw it there. 
Perfect on the
sidewalk, bloodless
veins over 
paper skin. Red fade to 
yellow fade to

---

green. Jagged teeth 
tickle soft across my
fingertips, nostrils prickling 
with cold air and sugared
resin. I twirl the leaf’s stem 
between my fingers, 
the sweet gum tree
hangs above my
head. 

How kind of him, 
how trusting, 
to leave his son with

me. I think of my

brother,

when he was still small
enough to say ‘I love you’
and mean it, stumbling with
a lash in his eye, 
water brimming. I kneeled
and took his head in my
hands. “Look up and to the
side.”
And he did. Count to five, 
swipe, release, relief. 
No ‘thank yous’ needed, 
never needed. Names 
dug in wet cement, discarded 
training wheels, learning 
not to listen to everything dad says.

I hope we will not be the same. 

“If you blow on it 
you can make a wish.” 
​
And he did.