DANTE CAME OVER TO VISIT. I KNEW I WASN’T A LOT of fun.
He knew it too. It didn’t seem to matter. “Do you want to talk?”
“No,” I said.
“Do you want me to go?” “No,” I said.
He read poems to me. I thought about the sparrows falling from the sky. As I listened to Dante’s voice, I wondered what my brother would sound like. I wondered if he’d ever read a poem. My mind was full and crowded
—falling sparrows, my brother’s ghost, Dante’s voice.
Dante finished reading a poem, then went looking for another. “Aren’t you afraid of catching what I have?” I said.
“No.”
“You’re not afraid?” “No.”
“You’re not afraid of anything.” “I’m afraid of lots of things, Ari.”
I could have asked What? What are you afraid of? I don’t think he would have told me.
