** Brother

Brother

I told you once
that I was my own evil twin.
With pink-rimmed glasses,
I paraded your fears
around the basement;
you believed everything I said.

When we took car trips,
I’d make you sit on the floorboards;
sweeping my arm
over the backseat with grandeur,
swaying you into forfeit,
you’d think you’d won;
proudly climbing down between
the wheel wells
and falling asleep to the vibration
of the road.

I used to sit you in front of the mirror
when we played cards
so I could read your hand.
I told you I could read your mind.
I told you I was magic,
and I swept into your nightmares
like an elusive fog.

You used to dream in fiery breaths,
kicking and fighting back every spirit
passing through your skin,
running in your sleep from some unknown
predator,
giving life and anger and fear
to every quiet pain in our house.

In the evenings,
dusk and summer wind
would take our lucid minds
and wrap them around
devils and wide-eyed monsters.
And we were safer, somehow, together,
in the blackest nights
when we listened between blankets
and through thin walls
to the most fearful sounds
the dark could hold.
We found solace in each other,
loosing our tight sheet grip,
finding refuge in the obscurity,
each time the wind blew
and the shadows danced.

And somewhere in this night,
you are breathing
through the same lungs I was given
at birth,
through the same lips;
seeing through the same deep
brown eyes
that I first saw the world.
And you are probably curled up
like I am,
with your fingers warm behind your knees,
your dreams still fiery,
your sheets pulled up over your head.

Somewhere in this night, brother,
you are still believing in me,
with my card tricks,
and my all-powerful magic.
Dreaming, maybe, that I will
sweep into the night,
while I am dreaming of you,
and take away the shadows
that clench us tight to the past.

**Ghost-Blogger