James Tyner

Learning About War Through Painting

My brother’s been back since March
and already war is leaving him.
He slept till one today, no covers,
just boxer shorts and sweat until

the sun crept too far up his face.
Even now, he spreads black
paint over our new guest room,
we call it guest, but we know

he’ll move in here soon enough.
For now, the roller’s in both hands,
black paint sticking to the walls,
filling up cracks, smoothing over

spackle, dents. He stops, bites
heavy into a sandwich, not bothering
to wipe paint or sweat, just eat,
black spreading to napkin, to bread.

 

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