Scanning the horizon of memory
for those faces of un-cried tears.
To allow those tears
Scanning ...
What do I see?
My brother, Morton, darting out the door. My brother with so many others in his life and remembering those moments he cared.
He would open the drawbridge
of his shell for a second
then snap shut,
tight shut.
I learned not to try and pry open
to that soft side,
but to enjoy when he choose.
What to say to a brother
whose adoption led him to see me
as though from his thick glasses
that distorts?
His children he will hear better.