siblings made of meat 

in the year of salami
my brother billy & i split the package
of lunch meat while we sat at the counter
& listened the sound of flickering summer
outside. we probably should have
spent more time in the yard. 
we probably should have made friends
with cicadas & the stray neighborhood dog
that could have just been a legend 
we made up. instead we bite holes 
in circle slices of salami & pointed out
the white spaces where
if you peered extra closely
you might be able to see through.
meat as a stain glass window.
we saw figures moving behind 
these portals. silhouettes 
of people made of meat or maybe
they were of the ghosts who stole
cracker from our cabinets & left crumbs.
we went through several lunch meat phases,
before salami was pastrami 
& before that was simple thick 
splices of turkey which we would
roll into periscopes,
looking at the far off mountains 
also made of meat & turning
to jerky in the white sun.
with our salami slice we would 
take guesses about the other 
ingredients-- i would say 
honeydew & cantaloupe & 
he would say smoked gouda & glass
& candle wax. we never questioned 
each other's responses,
but rather held up the slices
to try & locate a fleck of evidence.
what animal does salami come from? he
asked one day & without hesitation 
i said all of them
as if that was something 
i was sure of.
we savored the package,
only one slice per day
but every once in awhile when billy was
distracted i was sneak into the kitchen
& devour one piece alone
in one monstrous bite.