My older brother would spring
from the dark living room
where we weren’t allowed to sit,
his hands up in the
corny claw shape
we humans make
and unleash a loud growl
to scare me. It always worked,
even when I thought I knew
it was coming, and I would
rain windmill punches down
on his running retreat.
I’m no longer afraid of the dark,
and death has kept
my brother hidden
for well over
10,000 nights now.
I wonder where,
and if he is planning
to spring out and
scare me again
some day.

Categories: Poetry

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