This Book is for My Sister

I do not have a sister.  I do have a brother.

Though we share the same parents, my brother

was not weaned on our mother‘s milk.  We channel

this harped & hided world.  I have my many echoes.

My brother has his own—myself, which I suggested he lose.

He did, & I waited nearly twenty years to see him again.

He showed up with a folded newspaper under his right arm

which hid a long sharp knife.  Discovering his knife I told him

of the many spiders & their many eyes that shared my house.

I said, Ultimately, everything I do, I do for our sister.  He said,

Indeed.  It was then that he doffed his hat, made his exit,

& went in search of the graves of our grandparents.

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