by Kristen Zory King
Every time my brother calls stoned
he tells me he doesn’t believe
in God. I know, I say. What else is there?
I list all the things I know for sure,
like a kind of centipede that can see
an entire spectrum of purple
we could never imagine. Or, an oak tree
older than things like math or music.
I keep going, though I know he is not listening.
Some frogs bark, the sound louder
than a pack of dogs. You can hear them
best each May. Brother, don’t you remember
spring always comes late?