Poetry by Kyle Brandt-Lubart

Warren LeMay CC




Lost Correspondence

With a wounded dog limp through bullet-bent stillness
The mailbox on Grand and Osceola commanded that corner
Old tripod-style, one fractured leg curled beneath cobalt armor
Southside street-lean and sentinel proud
A communal vault entrusted with scrawled passions and overdue bills
‘Cause a belly out of reach won’t tell your troubles
Won’t exploit whims and weaknesses
Make you wish you’d cut your tongue licking scythe-ribbed stamps 
For the stinging reminder not to let secrets roam too far 

Past the sequestered brickyards where burnt Mississippi clay lifts smoke signals
The teeth of the disappeared shine like buried treasure
Dumped beyond the divide
When I try to grasp at words my tools turn brittle
Because I too carry the poison 
I fill an envelope with fresh dirt and sleepwalk to the corner
My concrete pilgrimage indelicately derailed 
Because the mailbox is gone

But in its lingering shadow a cold wind sings subtle blazes of
 
WE              
              WERE      
                                  HERE

As corpuscular keepers of new life spin silence into salve
One found correspondence at a time





For M.

Shrieks of delight cascaded across the county fairgrounds 
As the clanking kaleidoscope heard awakened with a hiss 
A thousand neon fireflies
Breathing life into the next few hours of entertainment 

The men operating the rides—they were always men—looked on indifferently 
As cheap cowboy hats flew off into the night
Fingers interlaced secretly
And bodies thrashed against flimsy restraints

I paced towards the chain link fence
Turning away from the clamor
To face an ample half moon 

Only two clouds were visible in the sky
Meeting at a sharp intersection beside their lunar companion
Shooting off into vectors at a 45 degree angle 
The celestial display an open ended formula

I’d seen this symbol countless times before
Some iterations unwaveringly literal
Others presenting an oversimplified equation
3>2
5 squared>4 squared
Insight>ignorance 

And so tonight the sky’s message was clear: 
THE MOON IS GREATER THAN

Greater than the tides of sorrow 
Shadows of doubt 
And talons of judgement 
Than any one Earthly decision raised to the power of uncertainty 
Greater than the ceaseless attempts to wrest autonomy from our life giving contours 
Than the greed of false prophets and the violence of their armies 
Than the pain of not receiving the tender care you needed when you needed it most 
Greater than despair’s constrictive fingers on supple necks 
And the illusion that we are running out of time in the process of becoming ourselves 

​THE MOON IS GREATER THAN

I tucked this message away
Took from it what I needed
Let that wash over me
And saved the rest for you

​

​

​Kyle Brandt-Lubart (she/they) is a queer poet, integrative mental health practitioner, community arts organizer, and multimedia maker who resides in St. Louis, Missouri. She is co-author/illustrator of the mixed-media chapbook, It Made A Sound. She is the recipient of a St. Louis Regional Arts Commission Artist Support Grant (2023-2024), and was a Dear Butte writer-in-residence as well as a Community Arts Training Institute fellow.