For My Brother, John
In the half light of the crescent moon,
Thinking of our childhood-
How you look like our father
But not really
You have always just looked like yourself.
I have a sister’s pride and sadness-
Your life of pomp and pageantry
And dealing with foolish problems
How did you get to be such a man?
But really you were this man
From the time you were born.
-I have no memory of that –
Our brother – the triad of our siblinghood-
Our brother’s birth is etched in the scent
But not you
You were always a part of me
A precious conundrum
And so I wait
In the half light of the crescent moon
Waiting for your headlights to stream down the ridge
For you to be here
As you always have been
*** My brother, John, is here for the weekend to visit our mom, who lives with us. I wrote this as I was – well – waiting- for him to arrive last night.