Geoff Anderson


My twin splits a worm,
chipped spade crude knife. !10!!10!

Will either half survive
he asks before I move !25!

to another state, a dorm,
a roommate who is not !10!!10!

blood. Not even a worm
knows what it’s like to live !10!!5!

apart. The firmer he presses,
the faster it writhes; how !25!!10!!5!

the more time passes through
me, the more I become !50!!10!

two selves—a separate
!50!doorknob, a deeper grey.

Hay on the lawn puddles.
!50!Bermuda grass shoots

through the dead.
!50!The worm breaks a

part a little further.
!50!In the process of

dismantling my room,
!50!I am of two minds

whether a house can
!50!return to what it was

if nailed back together.
!50!As he lifts the shovel,

my brother may not see
!50!myself in him. But

there he is in me,
!50!gripping the handle

to halve a life
!50!of my own.

Geoff Anderson curated Columbus, OH's first poetry shows for biracial writers (The Other Box), translation (Lingua Franca), and immigration (New World). He’s a Callaloo fellow and his chapbook, Humming Dirges, won Paper Nautilus’s Debut Series (2017). He is assistant poetry editor with Flypaper Mag, and he has work on or forthcoming in The Normal School Online, RHINO, Southern Indiana Review, and