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A conversation with my daughter about my brother\u2019s suicide<\/strong><\/p>\n She is awake.<\/p>\n The moon is bright and the clouds have parted. She tells me my brother is in the moon. to her lap, she asks me how he died. She rubs the milk away from her lips with her hands I try to explain. It can make you want to close your eyes on everything.\u2019<\/p>\n Her hands are like two leaves her eyes go big and round will make me die.<\/p>\n I hold her then, I accept my child, coming into a still life…<\/p>\n Then we talk about the moon being We stay up half the night finding patterns on the walls. <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Helen Calcutt<\/strong> is the author of two books of poetry, Sudden rainfall<\/em> (Perdika, 2014) a PBS Choice, and Unable Mother<\/em> published by V.Press in September 2018. Her writing is published internationally, including award-winning essays and reviews for The Wales Arts Review<\/em>, The<\/em> Brooklyn Review<\/em>, The London Review<\/em>, Poetry Scotland<\/em> and Boundless<\/em>. She is creator and editor of Eighty-Four<\/em> a poetry anthology on the subject of male suicide. Website: https:\/\/helencalcutt.org\/<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A conversation with my daughter about my brother\u2019s suicide She is awake. The moon is bright and the clouds have parted. The trees are painted trees, living a still life. She tells me my brother is in the moon. I\u2019ve bathed her, given her milk and as I fold the sheets from […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[138,141,7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-20284","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-2019-poetry-picks","category-prizes-and-awards","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20284","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20284"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20284\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20397,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20284\/revisions\/20397"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20284"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20284"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20284"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nThe trees are painted trees, living a still life.<\/p>\n
\nI\u2019ve bathed her, given her milk
\nand as I fold the sheets from her knees<\/p>\n
\n\u2018He was very sad\u2019 I say
\nand she seems to understand.<\/p>\n
\nas if the moon had kissed her
\nand then asks why.<\/p>\n
\n\u2018Sadness can make you very tired.
\nIt can make you want to sleep.<\/p>\n
\nresting on the bedcovers. She asks me if I miss him
\nand when I say I do<\/p>\n
\nand she asks me again, how he died
\nif the sadness of missing him<\/p>\n
\nthe weight of her. I can feel her widening like the stillness of a tree \u2013<\/p>\n
\nthe shape of an egg, upside down.
\nWe watch branches touch on drifting clouds
\nand agree \u2013 we want to see everything.<\/p>\n
\nDifferent kinds of windows.<\/p>\n