Older Brother

Older brother.

Do you know my name?

Has your memory lapsed

to block out the pain?

I write letters to you,

you know.

In hidden pages of notebooks

that you will never hold.

Letters you will never read.

Letter I can't send

Because I don't know 

where you live,

or where you are, even.

Our father cries for you sometimes.

And you don't know that, either.

You might have guessed,

or even hoped,

but I've proof you can believe in.

My eyes have seen him,

bent with grief,

distracting himself with work

while you are somewhere 

living your life

and sending us no word.

Teach me the bass,

older brother.

Let our love of music 

be the no-man's land.

A place where we can talk freely

and I can hold your hand.

This year I finished high school.

There was a special dinner

for all the grads and their families

to celebrate together.

You, of course, weren't there.

I'm just your little sister;

why would you come and dine with those

you hadn't seen forever?

But your mother was there, 

helping out.

I couldn't look at her.

Across from me sat 'the other woman':

my own beloved mother.

You don't write.

No phone calls either.

Except the time 

you called our dad;

you'd been told to 

by your teacher.

It saddens me to

think of it:

the only reason you called

was to get that 

passing grade you needed,

after which,

you ignored us all.

I want you in our family.

We all do, actually.

Your mother 

and your girlfriend, too,

if that is what you need.

Give me a piece 

of your heart;

I've given you more than that

already.

Give me a part

in your life;

I'll welcome you into mine

easily.

Are the hedges 

growing between us

a wall that keeps you safe?

Or will you deign to

cut them down

and see me, face to face?

Older brother.

Do you know my name?