BrotherChild

When I held
Your tiny hand
Not knowing what it was touching, yet,
Your eyes so open, drinking in everything
And I pushed your cradle down streets
To show neighbors how big
You were growing, and that Whistle
Called, like a train in the distance
Our mother standing in the front
Yard, blowing, blowing, before her lungs
Gave out, before you grew up and
Took the dark world in
Through smoke and anesthetic haze.
Before all that
I held your tiny hand
So you woudln't eat dirt or leaves
And thought your hand would always be
Small.
And now, a man, you look
At your lithe, strong wife
With the eyes of a large child
Who needs to be loved.
I wish her the happiness I had,
and for your hand to always be held.


Judith Pordon

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