I’d always wondered how I would feel
if something happened to him.
Would some buried love explode to the surface,
past all the pain and anger, the fear? Or would I feel
only emptiness, as for a stranger, which he is?

When I read the words of my mother’s email—
“It looks as if he may have had a stroke”—something
lurched open inside me. I remembered another day,
forty-odd years before: Chris and I playing outside
while waiting for our mom. The punch of an older kid
that bloodied my brother’s nose, left him with tears
and snot streaming. I stood by him as he sniffled.
“Huh,” I said. “A girl taking care of a boy.”

Were the seeds of enmity already planted
by then, in my brother’s soft young body?
Had I already committed whatever sin
would have him seek vengeance, year after year,
eyes shining with glee?

The answers elude me. Tonight there is only
thinking of my brother in a hospital bed,
only crying and not knowing why.