So a large part of my book--
I say a large part, not a large part, a chunk of my book deals
with having a brother who is a meth addict.
And one of the things that has come up,
we received a little packet of index cards
that some of the high school students
had written questions to.
And I was struck by one of the questions, and it said,
did you feel pain when you wrote these poems?
Because I deal--
I wrestle with family issues.
And I mean, it's a valid question.
And luckily for me, I didn't think about those things
while I was writing them.
I mean, I had to deal with the aftermath after,
and then I always get the question
when I'm writing poems about my brother.
And they say did that really happen?
And I always mention an anecdote the day
after my book arrived to me, my mother had read it.
She read it with all of my brothers and sisters.
I have four brothers and four sisters.
And so they all read it not out loud,
but they just took turns reading it.
And the next day, my mother came to my house
with my youngest sister.
And we had this awkward conversation,
and I finally asked her, well, mom, you know what?
Go ahead and just say it say.
Say what you need to say.
And she said, well, it didn't-- it's just that it didn't happen
that way.
And my little sister immediately responded,
and she said, mom, what do you mean?
That's exactly how it happened.
And I think that's the perfect answer to the question.
I'm pulling from real emotions, and I'm
pulling from real moments of life, real parts of life.
But then, I meet that with imagination and wonder
and possibility and impossibility.
And that's where my poems start to happen.
And so I'm going to go ahead and read a poem.
This is a pantoum, so it's form.
You'll hear some repetition.
"My brother at 3:00 AM, he sat cross-legged weeping
on the steps when mom unlocked and opened the front door.
Oh god, he said.
Oh god.
He wants to kill me, mom.
When mom unlocked and opened the front door at 3:00 AM,
she was in her nightgown.
Dad was asleep.
He wants to kill me, he told her, looking over his shoulder.
3:00 AM and in her nightgown, dad asleep.
What's going on?
She asked.
Who wants to kill you?
He looked over his shoulder.
The devil does.
Look at him.
Over there.
She asked, what are you on?
Who wants to kill you?
The sky wasn't black or blue but the green of a dying night.
The devil look at him over there.
He pointed to the corner house.
The sky wasn't a black or blue but the dying green of night.
Stars had closed their eyes or sheathed their knives.
My brother pointed to the corner house.
His lips flickered with sores.
Stars had closed their eyes or sheathed their knives.
Oh god.
I can see the tail, he said.
Oh god, look.
Mom winced at the sores on his lips.
It's sticking out from behind the house.
Oh god.
See the tail, he said.
Look at the goddamned tail.
He sat cross-legged, weeping on the front steps.
Mom finally saw it, a hellish vision.
My brother.
Oh god.
Oh god, she said."