Do you remember how loudly the crop planes sounded soaring over our heads when we were young?
I remember you slung across our mother’s hip one summer.
She stood in a frock she stitched together by her own talents
Her belly growing with life
Standing on the back porch our father built.
When you were just as young as the clematis he planted was;
Before it knew a harsh winter that would strengthen its roots and it grew untamed with vibrant violet blooms.
I remember your innocence;
Your fine blonde hair that was never parted in any particular way
Settled sweetly into unkept curls that fell over your ears.
I don’t recall if you were rubbing the sleep from your eyes having just woken from a nap
Or if you were protesting rest
But I remember the sound of those planes drowning out your soft cries and our mother swaying you gently;
As though the hum of their propellers were a lullaby.
Do you remember that tiny kitchen and the sliding door that would later imprint a crucifix onto my front tooth?
That memory of you sitting at the counter quietly indulging in a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk will forever be captured in my heart.
In that moment I most vividly remember the sincerity of your meek and adorable nature;
Always contemplating the world around you with curiosity and observing your surroundings in a peaceful silence.
Do you remember the neighbor’s filbert farm tucked behind the 30 acres we grew up on?
No matter how often we were scolded to refrain from sneaking onto the back of their property we always found our way to that electric livestock fence.
That fence that I was too much of a sook to ever touch but convinced you to clasp both of your small hands around one afternoon.
We both giggled at first;
Before the currents started like waves through your body.
My grin turned into fear as I saw your fingers clutch around the wire
And panic in your eyes began to set in.
I don’t remember how you released your fingers
But I do remember the blood vessels in your arms lifting under your skin.
The both of us riding our bikes home
Tears streaming down your cheeks
My mind fixated on how I’d be punished
Only to be met with hysterical laughter from our father as our story began to unfold.
Do you remember the praying mantis?
I remember your screams as we tormented you.
Our mother racing down the cement walkway from our little mobile home
Terrified that one of us had been scorched by the wood-burning stove that heated the sauna
Infuriated to learn your siblings had convinced you that your death would be served by an insect.
Sweet, wonderful, charismatic little brother
Please find it in your heart to never remember my betrayal when you think of me.
The night you confided in me through your tears and our mother’s screams as you sacrificed your comfort and offered your truth to the world;
That night I chose my false entitlement to godliness over protecting your heart and providing you a safe haven.
Words will never describe the shame I carry in rejecting you and not embracing what made you feel whole.
In what made you feel human.
In what allowed you to love freely.
Please remember how horribly we sing together.
Please remember the little purple hippo and yellow airplane buttons our mother sewed onto your shirts.
Please remember the embrace you shared with our father on the lawn.
Please remember the elevators and the games you played with your siblings when we were young.
Above all
Please remember that my love for you is more grounded than ever and will never falter.
an invitation to witness the most sacred parts of me 