Sister’s voice on the phone
jars me from my lethargy
write to him
years are never kind
to ancient tumors
barely sentient in
abandoned tombs
The construct
that encased him
was not
of his own making
he inherited it
from our father
his older brother
write to him
I did not
could not
blame him
for anything
but deciding
I blamed him
I cut into
the rotting
wrought iron facade
the mouldering stones
and found
a garden
flourishing
This is beautiful. Very moving.
It’s based on a conversation I had with my sister, and a letter I wrote and mailed today.