Wandering
(Brother Elbow and Little Sister poem #19)
Brother Elbow wants to
morning meet by the
restored fountain in the
gentried park I don’t want
to go, bad memories.
Little Sister smiles, nods,
and we set off along the
boulevard, the brown-wool
nun and tall me, a curious
couple amid sweat runners
and leashed dogs walking.
Brother Elbow is locking his
bike as we arrive, and the
water of the fountain tells a
string of stories. It rosaries a
wheel of prayers for the
repose of every soul, quick
and dead, including the
three-piece homeless guy
who could be my son.
Remember my wandering.
Little Sister embraces Brother
Elbow, full of grace, although
Avila said in the rules to keep
distant. Little Sister dances with
Elbow a silent waltz, and even
he laughs.
Brother Elbow won’t let the
homeless guy use his phone
to make call but gives him $2,
grumbling about lost lives
and empty hours.
Little Sister baptizes me with a
fountain splash, and I want to
keep silent, but she looks and I
say, “I fear.”
Hear me.
Brother Elbow spits in the
Starbucks-thick garbage can
and looks and I say, “Brother
Flash and Sister Spark are
weak as flowers to the cold.
They are poor-built huts.
They are sure travelers
disdainful of maps. Who
can save them? I am a
worm and no man.”
Little Sister feeds me and
Brother Elbow slices from her
orange, gives the rest to the
homeless guy, a small boon on
this morning of sun and water
and worry.
I lift up my heart.
Patrick T. Reardon, a Chicago Tribune reporter from 1976 to 2009, is the author of seven poetry collections. His latest is Every Marred Thing: A Time in America, the winner of the 2024 Faulkner-Wisdom Prize from the Pirate’s Alley Faulkner Society of New Orleans (Lavender Ink). He is a five-time nominee in poetry for a Pushcart Prize. His poetry has appeared in America, RHINO, Commonweal, After Hours, Autumn Sky, Burningword Literary Journal and other journals.
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