what if the shells 
of snails are the hollow
skeletons of planets who
gave themselves over 
to smallness?
i offered again this summer 
to have my youngest brother, Joey,
stay over my house for a weekend, 
even though i know 
that it probably won't happen.
i take comfort in 
making offerings i
know no one will
take me up on. most often
this happens with my family.
i don't know what that says about me.
i remember when Joey first came home,
small and pink and scowling
like all babies do. he was 
snail scaling
the walls of our big messy house.
this morning Joey
and i both found snails
in damp shady nooks of the world.
i don't know this for sure,
it's just a feeling. i feel him
leaning done to peer 
at the intricacies of its 
soft body. mine
is a grove snail with a
yellow spiraling shell. he looks
out of place in the alley
beside a silver gum wrapper
and a freckling of moss. i tell him
my brother is visiting and
i love my brother but 
sometimes i don't know if
saying i love him is right
because there's so much 
i'm not sure i'll ever know 
about him. i feel Joey 
run his finger over the smooth
shell of his snail. occasionally 
i would help watch Joey and
people would always ask if he 
was mine. sometimes i played 
along. maybe because
i wanted to know what that 
feels like to have someone
tell you your baby looks
just like you or maybe 
i just thought 
it was easier that way.
about the snail shells 
and their planetary origins
i think that might just
have been something 
i came up with 
to comfort myself about my own
largeness. my life is so large 
and yet i only pretend to break 
it into pieces. i don't know
anything about Joey but 
i want to. do i want to?
yes, yes of course. we're brothers.
we want to know our brothers.
the snail he found was
a garlic snail. the snail 
he found had a deep amber shell.
the snail he found was a great
big huge planet, the kind
that smashes into other planets 
and smashes into houses.
yes, yes 
he does look like me.