How to explain to one who doesn’t have a brother
What you mean and meant to me?
Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh,
Like no other, only us, just us two.
Living the same different, you boy, me girl
You younger, me older, family constellation
Giving place space to where we were
And grew and learned and breathed.
My first friend, first boy, first love
But for the dog they gave away when you came
My dog, my Sally, taken to Grandma’s
Weekend seen, but you don’t remember.
Following me around at first, “Take your brother,”
To the playground, playing tag, hide-n-seek
And girl games: hopscotch, jump rope, dress-up
But you were all boy, pure boy, buzz-cut.
Later, fishing with Daddy, working on cars, bikes,
Mowers; everything we did, you now joined
Soon to surpass me, as it had to be,
And Mommy knew it would, but me still wishing.
Then teen years, at the lake, swimming,
Fish-free, so slippery, thin-sleek chill
You with your chicken legs. Me with those
Unwelcome slowing-me-down breasts. So not fair.
School years: straight A’s breeze for me,
So hard for you. Then Mommy leaving us when
We both needed her most. Constellation changed
For always. You and Daddy silent grieving.
Moving on as we had to: college-work-sex for me,
Cars and motorcycles and weed for you.
Coming home late I smell the heady autumn
Leaf tempting fire smell. Daddy never knew.
I moved away, married; you married, and married,
And then married. Looking for never-found
Until the last. Back to one we knew before;
The right one all along, finally found.
And then too short a time, but oh, she loved you,
Loves you, can’t sleep in your bed, can’t part
With your old dogs, loves them, holds them,
Did you know they knew me as you? Our smell.