For Samuel: Remembering When You Were Three and I Was Twelve
You came to me a picture book
translucent nails and skin that smelled of milk,
no words, but lots to show.
That day
I didn't look both ways,
didn't see the car, and you were following.
A desperate grab I swung-saved-wrenched you by your wrist
and even then I thought for sure, that twist, I'd hurt your shoulder.
Cain killed his brother and left him in the dirt and lied to God.
"Am I my brother's keeper?"
petulant
the sentence burned, it tore like reflux:
came as reflex.
It wasn't made of question,
but incapable confession.
You were fine, unaware
too young to care, and I--disjunct.
Could I have
the possibility oh God the thought...
(Cain only asked because he knew)
deprived you of this world,
this world of you.
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