The Notes of a Name / Anathema of Anatomy

POETRY

by Conner Mulkerrins

There is no music in my name, it is not said with

admiration born purely from the sound of it.

You are there, and your younger version too,

both given a gravity I cannot duplicate (I wouldn’t want to

even if I could, but I can’t). Our brother has no music either,

but at least he is connected to our father. I am isolated.

I have shared space with you since before we were

capable of memory and yet I still feel alone, given a throwaway

name debated and almost different, identity in the wind.

You were almost deprived of a twin when we were born.

Death made herself known to me on that day, but I

asked her to leave and so she did. But her departure

did not come for free. She took my body as payment,

reaching into my brain and killing with precision.

Enough was taken for me to struggle, but it could be worse

so how can I complain? My bones grind, my muscles scream

but at least I can walk. My back aches and my knees

often buckle under my own weight, though I am only 19,

but at least I can walk.