A Poem for my Brother

Backs pressed against cool grass
in the dampness of summertime sleepiness
with our eyes cast upwards,
scanning our cosmos
curiously.
In those days, we still thought
satellites were wishing stars
and late-night flights
were comets,
painting the sky with fire.
Back then, there were waves
lapping our feet, tickling our toes,
rocking us to slumber
and easing us awake.
We rode the moon with the tides
and thought fireflies were fairies
and I remember the time
we almost caught the Boogyman.
It was the days of laundry hamper forts
and Christmas tree climbing
and once we even touched the sun;
do you remember? You had a blister,
and you wore it like proof.
We played hide ‘n’ seek
from reality,
with our fingers coating our eyes
and shielding us from
our futures.
We hid from garbage trucks
in old van backseats
with our noses pressed to window glass
and our back were pressed
against each other.
We turned snowballs into fruit,
ate them in a doghouse
we thought was a palace,
and we fought like children
because that’s what we were.
One day,
I only saw laundry hampers,
I couldn’t fit in the doghouse,
the garbage trucks stopped frightening me,
and I noticed that some fireflies
had broken wings.
You still saw pixie dust in shadows
and danced with windstorms;
suddenly,
we were worlds apart
when we were side by side.
The waves that lapped our toes
turned into tsunamis
and I was swallowed whole
and drifted out to sea,
leaving you alone
in the world we created for ourselves
a lifetime ago.

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