Even with identical calendars
the need to compare remained,
perhaps by some quirk
both brother and sister
had a different donkey behind door two,
but like the love that sang through the house
it was stubbornly the same

We never got to be teenagers together,
because by that time, I was gone.
I needed to be, or I would have been forever
but leaving you behind was painful.

You bullied me, but I held faith that it was just you being a kid.

But we never got to be teenagers,
doing the simple things like sitting next to eachother on the sofa
I wanted to be there after your first kiss, to gossip over boys.
I want to share a drink, a joint, a tattoo, with you.

I do miss everyday...

We never even got to be kids..

my life , my clothes
my love , my breads
my love life , my everyday living !

my all children , my life
my purpose , my love
my all purpose , my shortage

my everyday living , my challenges
my shortage , my strength
my clothes and my breads , my poems and my stories !

on the spot decision of mine weakens my strength to face my challenges
but there was this spot that i do not own
perhaps i could possess and make my children live their lives worthwhile !

are pushed.
Voices
ignored.
Tones
raised.
Feelings
on the floor.

Bunk beds are fun

and dandy.

When hiding from chores

they are ever so handy.

But not so much

when my kid brother

falls asleep on top with

a bag full of candy.

My fingers are shaking—
is it dehydration or weariness?
Is it the weight of the world and my brother
saying, “Why didn’t you eat sooner?
What didn’t you go to sleep earlier?
Take care of yourself more.”
He’s just looking out for me.

The news.
It hit each brother hard.
I received it last.
I was caught off-guard, by the invitation to the church yard.
This was to be the first.
For some this would be the worst.
I felt submersed, as if I’d dove headfirst and now immersed in the tears that burst from my father’s eyes and did not disperse.

Family arrived.
Gradually at first,
Then all at once,
Our garden was filled with cousins, uncles, aunts.
Some the brothers knew, others they met.
As each one told them it’s okay to be upset.
But none of the brothers’ eyes were wet.
Not yet.

The black cars arrived.
And they all piled in. We seemed to talk about everything.
Except about him.
We got to the place.
Friends had come, so them, we embraced.
Then filled with grace,
One brother turned and tripped on his shoelace.

The brothers laughed
But there was no malice in it.
Just a moment of joy in all of this.

It was lighter than expected.
The weight shared between 6.
The brothers, their father, and his sis.

Two generations,
Carried in a third.
As the congregation stood,
With their cries unheard.
The ceremony started,
Hymns were sung.
The four brothers, right at the front.

Their father rose with a wobble,
To speak his piece.
He looked small to the boys,
But he never looked weak.
Following him,
One of the brothers shall speak.

I tapped my pocket,
Checking it was there,
Knowing too that my brothers had spares.

I stood.

I took the steps towards the podium.

I stood.
Ready to begin.

Ready to speak for my brothers
and say goodbye to him.