Never A Brother

My mother had a boy

Who was never a brother to me,

But saw me a some type

Of strangely feminine oddity.

We were never friendly.

Him, ten years my senior.

Mostly he ignored me

And couldn’t have been meaner.

My memories of him

Are mostly of his accidents.

Tongue busted by a cricket ball,

Ackee seed smashing his eye lens.

Always we were strangers

Raised in the same household.

After he moved out

The distance grew tenfold.

I’ve wondered over the years

How having a brother might be.

Like the language of distant lands

It’s all very foreign to me.

There’d been brother’s I’m told

Who protect their sister’s honor.

And guides and guards his sibling

While being a positive role model.

I’ve also heard of brothers

Who take very special care

To ensure his sister knows

For her, he’s always there.

Long after we both left home

I learnt of those things.

Though he never made an effort

I can’t hold it against him.

It’s been fifteen long years

Since I’ve spoken to my brother.

And now all we have in common

Is that we both resemble our mother.

Ria – 2015