[Alex, et. al.]
I miss my brothers,
I hunger,
rapturously
for their nearness-
the silky skin-fabric
& muscle-lattice
embrace
of their guardian
blood-love
anchored deep
& unyeilding
within me
when they
are close-by.
I, myself,
am one of the sisters
instead,
always companioned with
the sinewy emotion
of their woman lives
(though two of the three
are more like men
than most).
I once heard Alex say
that he'd rather be
one of the sisters-
our bond close
and woven,
webbed & meaty-
all breasts and mangled messes
of heart-heavy
endeavor.
(though he is more
woman
than any of us:
his heart
so spacious
& womb-like-
always
heaving,
always
open).
As sisters,
we have
something special,
yes-
that innateness
of need
for bosom & blood
when no mother
is near,
some coven
to covet
our wommanness with,
when mother is still
drinking
and alone
& knotted up tight
in the hysteria
of so much
birth-
of so much
blood
lost
& spilled
into
creation.
Alex.
The sonorous carnival
of his harmonic
brother-love voice
dances
madly,
wildly,
in & around
my heart
and sits heavy
& thunderous
in my little-sister belly.
The last time I truly laughed,
-deeply, whole-bodily
& exhaustedly laughed-
was 19 months ago,
on another coast,
in another city,
two blocks west
of Pike Street,
on Summit Ave
over beers
with my brother,
Alex.