Brotherly Kindness

From "Phoenix Song"

I am happy enough 
to offer the hospitality
I would give any stranger: 
a meal spread before you, 
a table solid and safe
between us. A practiced
smile greeting you across
four familiar feet of
good wood. 

It’s harder for me 
to extend the intimacy
of a brotherly kindness: 
to wrestle with you, 
put a dent in the wall. 
To give you crap and 
to let you grab my
shoulders and shake
once in a while 
to say you’ve had 
enough. 

It’s hard for me 
to leave the room
when you come to 
visit, just let you
soak up the sunlight, 
sprawled across the couch, 
as you wander through 
a shelf full of my books. 

It’s easy enough for me
to let you choose what to 
do with your life, harder
to let myself risk feeling
like I have a stake in it. 

But once in while, 
even in a classroom
even chatting in the 
bustle of the hall 
or standing outside
as we linger after 
Church. Sometimes
when you tell a story
or when we laugh over
a joke that reaches into 
the inside experience only
you and I and a few million
people secretly share—
it’s then, when mirth 
and memory mix in your 
face at the same time
they mix in mine that
I remember 
why we
call each 
other 
brother.  

---

Originally published in Phoenix Song