my brother as a vampire hunter

out the front door in the middle of the night.
i stand at my window to watch as he
ambles out of view just over the hill
towards the cornfields. i have never
seen a vampire but i know they are
more afraid of us than we are of them.
he collects flasks of holy water. he practices
making the sign of the cross. daylight is 
a pocketknife in the windows. he prays 
the 'our father' under his breath. 
always tracking the next one. plays his violin
to lure them out of hiding. i don't agree
with any of it. who is to stay 
we will never be vampires? i would keep
to myself. most of them keep to themselves
or so i believe. have you ever met a boy
in the night & thought maybe he might
want to drink your blood? it might just
have something to do with walking 
as a girl. he tells me some vampires 
even lay face down in the woods
hoping the moss will grow over their bodies.
of course i fall in love
with vampires. i conjure a fantasy of one
arriving each night to bring me 
roses. we would not speak, we would just
kiss in the door way. i would 
invite him inside. tell the vampire
my brother is a hunter. we would both
find this sexy. fear is often 
the most erotic possibility. my brother has
never killed one. he sharpens stakes
in the basement using dad's wood saw.
my parents encourage him. they tell him
they're glad he found his calling.
i'm scared of the burning in his eyes 
while he reads the obituraries
hoping to find a new lead. the life of 
a vampire hunter is a hungry one.
i ask him if he still wants to be a priest 
one evening as he gets ready 
to embark. he says that this is
a kind of priesthood. he peels apart
hearts of garlic to fasten necklaces.
he makes me one & hangs it on my door.
i put it around my neck. who knows
where or how he looks for them.
he carries a lantern out in front of him.
the whitish glow blares against
the faces of each farm house 
he stumbles past.