My little brother, 3 years old
for Joey
My little brother's left eye was stronger
than his right--it tried to pull away.
It left the right eye hurting to catch up.
Now he wears glasses to balance
the aching twins at war
in his head. The lenses glint,
almost alive with the things
that make him wonder. And everything
makes him wonder.
I am too serious today, and I search
his face for emerging signs of concern.
It shows none except a questioning eye
when confronted with dogs on leashes
and people who yell at each other--
things appearing chained or unhappy
confuse him. My eye-sockets darken with adult powers
watching his face dimple in puzzlement at any pain.
Already something in his body
is hungry to liberate our pitiful lives.
Little does he know how we'd string him up
if he tried. Little does he know, beyond the wet grass
demanding nothing, a planet's population terrified of joy.
Let the little blonde head bob between gardens,
look on teenagers playing frisbee
and wonder at their long crazy legs.
The world smells so good to him from here.
I've carried his cotton-soft life
in my arms through parks before,
counting on his cuteness to bring the girls;
It always works, and when they come I say:
"Let me touch your body with mine and maybe
I'll put one of these in your belly, but I can't
promise to take care of it when it comes.
I'm still too much like him to be a father."
Most of them laugh--but one looked terrified.
My little brother gently smiled and patted
that one on the head, almost tumbling out of my arms
with sudden reach before she could turn away.
She looked ready cry under his touch. An old boy, and the young one
in his arms, watched together through six eyes
bristling to properly align their powers,
her thin shoulders tremble as she walked apart.
A child's touch makes matter itself
stir immeasurably. And he is already accustomed
to people weeping. Like the nuzzling
of a concerned dog: a gesture
meant to comfort or express affection
reminds us of the innocence lost to us
from which it comes, of how badly we need comfort
and how little we can expect.
1 comment:
Hi Betti.
Perhaps I do have a neurotic desire to justify my way of life. If so, maybe it's because, as I imply in the article, my ability to enjoy simplicity has risen just as much out of necessity as anything else--maybe I want it to appear more noble than it is. If so, I hope I'll get over it. The desire to appear noble has often made me act like a schmuck.
Actually, I agonized over including that last bit in the article. I would rather not talk about my lifestyle at all, preferring to keep it private.
But I hope that, even if the article is slightly poisoned by some deep-seeded yearning for self-justification, that what I believe (again, perhaps from delusions of nobility) is my main reason for writing it comes through: I would like to SHARE the kind of unfiltered joy that I've been experiencing over the last couple of years, and since I hear a lot of people saying that their adulthood doesn't match the beauty of their childhood, I feel I might have something to contribute.
That said, I doubt many people will take the advice very seriously, but sometimes you have to stick your neck out and risk a little pulpit-pounding, especially when we see so much needless self-inflicted misery and confusion all around us.
*****
As for us visiting each other, I don't spend much time looking at maps, but I believe New Hampshire is, geographically speaking, actually above New York. However, I would love to visit you from any direction at all. But if you want to see me in person, you'd probably have better luck coming to Keene, since, as the article states, I have no car and no money. You're always welcome.
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