But, poetry books about siblings are harder to recall, save Wordsworth. Perhaps because poems about brothers and sisters are not as immediately dramatic as those about parents and offspring we tend not to think of them as wearing the same fabric but yet, most of us are siblings--in fact, maybe there are more siblings than parents.
It was a cold night in New Hampshire and you
were looking for an easy mark.
An old woman, head to toe in black, a widow
maybe, hobbled down the street.
What did you imagine was in her huge, black
purse with the tarnished clasp?
A just-cashed Social Security check? Her month's
allotment of twenties?
You didn't expect her to put up a fight and when
she did, you dragged her ten feet.
You called our father from the county jail to bail
you out, but he didn't.
None of us did.
Perhaps you never forgave me.
Perhaps you never could.
Why can't I remember more
about you? The tens of thousands
of hours you've been my brother?