an inverse translation after Roger Reeves
by Susan Calvillo
The volcano lives in June
for the last time and scatters air.
So few goslings with cheeks pressed
against their soft shells never see
the light of day, crackling,
jumping, folding and spitting.
The fire is molten lava.
There’s only time for one salutation.
Even if these rivers cease steaming
the coral will still cook.
My brother will draw closer to his heart
than we are to our own
sitting square center on a teeter totter
but in different chests with the false hope
of breaking free. Then for the first time after
a moon, for the first moon, my brother
breaks into a run, chasing a goose through the snow.
This is an inverse translation of Roger Reeves' "Before Diagnosis."