MY BROTHER, BRINGING PRESENTS.
My brother, bringing presents, would appear.
From nowhere any season. of the year
It suited him - or so it seemed to us,
Remembering. He'd come, solicitous
And smiling with that easy confidence
He had, no word ahead. "Ah, no offense,"
He'd say, "But letters cage me in." His laugh
Would make us race to find the fatted calf
To bid him welcome with, my brother and
His presents. We were young then, understand,
Exulting in a brother to whom whim .
And wanderlust were all they seemed to him.
Years later, with the pattern changed and need
Of him grown stronger, once we asked if he'd
Forsake old fancies, come to stay. We were
My Mother's keepers then. It was of her
We thought, we said, self-righteously. Please, when
Would he be back?
He never came again.
Nor could my Mother, pardoning her son,
Forgive us till her death for what we'd done.
Maureen Cannon
Ridgewood, NJ