iii. on making peace with my brother
while i was born to be beheld by behemoth machines, you were cast into the shadow of the baby unborn, the supposed sister that never was. the little brother born after the storm, i held you close and caught myself tasting undying devotion for the first time.
i sought so sincerely to shield you from the unseaming of our mother, the taste of death as our father slipped past in your 6-year-old arms, heart hollowed out with the scraping of the ambulance on the front curb. i wanted in vain to keep you in your child's heart, denied your existence to the tormentors and torturers that would seek you if they could hear that steady beat.
i owe you acres of apologies, in my anger at my failure to find you safety, i lashed with lascivious tongue and languishing limbs at you. you understood the pain as ours, and for that, i rejected you.
as age grew into wisdom, i found you always at departures, darting on to the depths of something daring. i gazed on as you grew past my self and found your appetit