Evening, like any other Friday in late winter, rain
turning to snow, sun around four, the stylist at Jared’s saying
it will be warmer soon.
On the arm of the couch a stink bug walks with slow stretchy steps.
I put it on the windowsill, knowing it will be back
attracted by the lamp. Check the app for my daughter’s plane:
delays in the evening.
The phone lights
with my brother’s face.
I had not thought he would call this year, not after the incident, his anger.
In the quiet, I answer.
The diamond shaped carapace lands, motionless now as he speaks
rapidly, loudly. The plane is in flight,
a small circle moving across the simple map towards the lettering of our city.
My brother’s voice is suddenly lovely,
not because he is making amends, he did no wrong,
but because his body rests in the evening.