10.2.11

not really a poem

to my brother on his 18th birthday.

we've been in the same room, not speaking.
we've been in the same car, not speaking.
we have lived lives separate but equal;
parallel and intersecting.

now you are "old enough," arbitrarily a member of adulthood;
but today, i will remember when you were smaller than me,
leaning your head against my shoulder and falling asleep on long car rides.
i was so glad, then, for you to be quiet.
i am so glad, now, that i had a chance to hold you.

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