Concuss

Concuss

written by: Marla Lacherza Bracco

@mangopickles

 

The reason he was in the Philippines was for Arthur
digging dirt against the cement, treading sand—wishing

for snow, inside his father’s sandals, he fell down
into the torrid air, he prayed to somebody—for something

Punch-drunk, he hit the part of his head doctors call the occiput
against the ivory cobblestone—he laid flat next to an Akapulko plant,

Aroused by the scent of neighborhood honey rum and grilled bananas,
he thought in China and in Germany—walls are more famous than people.