truce telling

By Sarah Snyder

Brother, maybe one day the trees and hillsides 
will empty and then we can share 
the very first season of our fracture. 
The first time I heard about Jesus,
I wanted him for a brother, the way he healed 
with his hands—kind and warm not like yours. 
The hitting you did, the way you looked at me 
with no warmth. Thank god I have sisters,
I have thought my whole life. 
There are some things in the garage 
from Mom and Dad that I've put in a cardboard box.
Even writing your name in black letters
brings sadness, how we were always a battle, 
how I haven't even called to tell you it's there.

Photo by Jeffrey Riley