(tales from the viral lock-down)

Brice (my brother) is cutting through what smells like a stack of cinnamon french toast.
My stomach growls at the aroma like a hunting cat.
I jump out of bed, grab my robe and rush excitedly to the kitchen.
I see the pan in the sink.
gasp “You didn’t MAKE me any!!?” I accuse, in indignant shock.
Brice, looking up, “JESUS, get on some fu-kin' clothes!”
He waves his arms like he's fighting a flock of birds.
I look down, “GOD, I AM wearing clothes, you PERV! - and a bathrobe”
"Who says THAT’S a bathrobe??” He says, sarcastically.
Me: “Kiki Montparnasse!”, I say, indignantly.
My mom enters to fill her coffee cup.
Brice: “Will you please tell YOUR DAUGHTER to get on some clothes?”
My mom inspects me and I twirl for my audience.
“That IS a little sheer”, she pronounces.
“ARGH!, FINE,” I say, before stomping off to change.
I start to fume."HE CAN GO ALL OVER IN BOXER SHORTS BUT I CAN'T WEAR A BATHROBE?!!"
“And HE didn’t make EXTRA TOAST”, I yell back in pointed accusation.
“Get to work,” (on more toast) I hear her tell him, just before I slam my door.

another day…

My brother Brice is fighting with his girl-friend on the phone.
Of course, I'm only hearing 1/2 the conversation - but he sounds like a ****.
Me: "apologize," I silently, slowly, exaggeratedly mouth
Brice: "fu-kovv," he mouths back, silently
Me: "I'm your sister," I say, "I get to boss you around, besides, I KNOW what’s BEST"
A minute later - He actually apologizes!!! And they make up.
(I dance around the room like Rocky)

Fever dreams of foreign wells
where lucky coins cast magic spells.
Avoid the snakeman's pretty words;
full of charm, the truth deferred.
**** this forever-feeling winter -
Dull heart, numb hands, feeling splintered.
Nights spent crying on your own.
I should have answered the ******* phone.

Now it's too late -
too late to try.
Under this weight,
can't wait to die.
You were betrayed -
trade places with me.
You should have stayed,
so trade places with me.

Shortened blade of sharpest wit,
too proud to beg, too proud to quit.
Took the beatings, soaked in rain,
stood ever taller - **** the pain.
I was so proud of how you'd grown;
no man's man, only your own.
But you loved that ******* -
again too proud to beg or quit.

Now it's too late -
too late for hope.
Under this weight,
how the hell can I cope?
I could've saved you;
why didn't you share?
I should've saved you;
I should have been there.

My little brother,
my torture and peace,
my favorite anomaly,
you'll never decrease.
The wounds in your heart
should forever be healed,
and one day I'll find you
in the Elysian field.

Take me back to the timber,
     the BB guns and ****** forts.
Can you still remember
     all the fights you made me thwart?
Or are you so beyond
     the rules we comprehend
that our lonely little pond
     is now hard to understand?
I think I let you down;
     to put it modestly.
I should've been around
     to save you from the endless scream.

six months ago last tuesday night
     you called me.
i didn't know it was the last talk
     that we'd have.
i should have paid you much,
     much more attention.
now i'm stuck without the silver
     of your laugh.

just last night I thought I saw you
     in my doorway,
wanting only for us to think of
     you and smile.
brother, we will think of you
     forever,
and smile, though we will also
     cry a while.

this morning found me desperate
     and demanding,
with neither time nor drink
     to soften such an edge.
i've a thirst for just a moment
     in your sunshine,
one moment more would be
     such a privilege.

today is marked the sixth month
     of your absence -
six long months of sorrow
     and regret.
the brightness of your presence
    gone forever,
my darkened heart knows that
     the sun has set.

but tomorrow is another day
     to love you,
and even though i cannot tell you
     to your face,
i hope you feel it coming through
     to find you.
i hope you've found some peace
     in that new place.

in the years ahead, i'm sure,
     i'll share in laughter
untainted by the pain
     of life cut short.
but in those moments i'll still know
     that you are with me -
you're still with me, though i'm lonely.
     and you're adored.

In this sorry world we have,
few try to make it better.
You did it by not following the
spirit of law,
but choosing sometimes
to follow the letter.
Your unwavering honesty
and living your own truth
helped build the reputation you had
of being perfectly uncouth.
You were giving, loving,
calling everyone to stay in touch.
Your pranks will live on,
but I must admit that
they could sometimes be too much.
From cooking to drinking to
all your social charms,
from tanning beds to dancing
to hilariously rude alarms,
everything about you is now missing
in our lives -
whether stealing tens from grandma
or giving nieces and nephews fives.
Your brightly glowing freedom
and unbridled care for all
should follow you and serve you well
along this last and lonely hall.

No more rhyming. I love you, little brother.
And I miss you terribly.

I am not white, but
my skin is light enough
that I can walk down
these suburban sidewalks
without fearing for my life.

my brother shares my blood,
but he doesn't share my privilege.
his skin is not light enough
for him to avoid prejudice.

growing up, I couldn't see
how we were any different.
to be honest, I still can't.
but now I know that
other people can.

we are apart by two years
and fourteen and a half inches,
and we share only one parent.
but even now, I can't understand
why that makes us so different.

the ironic part of it all is that
people are afraid of him, but
I'm the one with a criminal record.
my brother has never
seen the inside of a cell.

I remember this one time
when we were walking
and this man pulled his truck
over to the side of the road
to ask me if I needed help.
I looked at him and said,

"this is my brother.
if I needed help,
he would be helping me."

he stared at us in disgust
and he drove away
without another word.
I was afraid, but
my brother wasn't.

I couldn't understand
why he didn't react.
now I realize that
he was already used to it.

my brother and I
are adults now.
we've both moved away and
we don't live together.
we aren't so young anymore.
we aren't innocent anymore.

we're still best friends,
and I still can't understand
what makes us so different.
I still see him on the holidays.

I still love my brother
and he still protects me,
the same way he did
when we were kids.

but it hurts me
because I have realized
that even though I love him
more than anything,
I can't protect him.

every time the TV
shows another black man
shot in the streets
in broad daylight,
I shake with fear.

I call my brother
and I'm not religious but
I pray that he answers.
I can't calm down
until I hear his voice.

I can't convince myself
that he's at home safe
when I see so many young men
who don't ever make it home.

when we were kids,
we lost our older brother.
he drank too much and
got into a car one night
and we waited, but he never
pulled into our driveway.

we thought that he had
stayed at a friend's place,
or maybe he had forgotten
to charge his phone.

we never thought that
his car was flipped over
at the bottom of a hill.
we never thought that
our brother was
under a white sheet.
we never thought that
we wouldn't see him again.

I am so afraid that one day,
my phone will ring
and I will find out that
my brother was shot dead
because of his skin.

I am so afraid that one day,
I will lose another sibling and
there will be another funeral
and my life will have
another gap in it.

I am so afraid that my brother
will become yet another statistic.
I am so afraid that my brother
will be stolen from me.

I am afraid that one day,
when my brother has children,
they will grow up facing the
same hatred that has existed
for so many generations.

one day, my brother
might be the next face
shown on the news.

one day, he might have to teach
his children to move slowly
and to put their hands on
the dashboard of their cars.

one day, he might sit at home
and shake with fear
worrying that his child
will be stolen from him.

one day, I might have to look
his daughter or son in their eyes
and tell them that their daddy
isn't going to come home.

I don't know how
I would survive if
my brother or his children
are stolen from me.
I don't know if
I'd even want to survive.

so how is it possible
for you to steal the life
of my brother, or of a child,
and to then walk away
as if nothing happened?

how could you
destroy the lives
of an entire family
and a whole community,
and continue living your life
without any remorse?

how do such hateful people
exist in this world?

and when can I stop fighting
for this world to change?

when will I be able
to pause and take a deep breath?

when will my brother and I
look the same to you?

will we ever stop being afraid?

tizz is an uncle, bro and dem richez
i was born viciouz, but always had visionz
a young boy used to build bridgez
between black and white, peace and fight

dreamy adolescence, i spit out whole heavenz
wit my divine essence, all dem "lyricis" be jealouz
but dey just "so called", cause dey so old
tizz grew cold, so not any of dem amateurs won't grow old

i'm so cold, i freeze, **** and stay, then i eaze among dem geez
we live in codez like secret service, dealin' wit burnaz
quick learnaz, sick and sane, our skin is thick,
we don't feel pain, black lion's mane, heaven yeah

no expression can illustrate tizzopish aggression
pay attention! watch out for dat other direction
receive my blessin', kneein' between me and the destined
it's battle rappin', it's slappin' againzt all of ya actin'

friendship versuz rush, some peepz start to blush
when you remind them of valuez, like some bad newz
i'm the man whose bad moodz be legendary, like a legionary
dealin' wit whatz necessary, cause i was born predatory

find tizz shinin' in the mornin' glory and rhymin' a story
readin' diz is mandatory, just anotha category,
stolen from the laboratory, ****, am i now swollen,
and all-in like all-night, alright, feed em just a small bite