Ann Arbor Review
INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
is an independent
International Journal & ezine
Copyright (c) 2012
Submissions via e-mail:
(for my brother, Sandor)
Halfway down the hill, in front of our house,
shoveling snow off the sidewalk after school,
my twin brother and I, full of teenage energy,
talking as much as shoveling, some snowballs
mixed in too, and the early dark coming on.
And then he straightened up like an animal
hearing an unfamiliar sound, though I heard
none, his eyes alert, looking inward at something
I did not see, and then said calmly "Let's go in"
but so forcefully I did not ask a question.
Like a boat whose engine has been cut, time
started slowing, drifting towards an unknown
shore. Inside, we stood by the bay window
and looked out. Time put down its anchor
and stopped. A truck came down the hill,
fishtailed out of control, slid onto the cleaned
sidewalk, grazed the maple in the front yard,
swerved back onto the road and continued on.
Time slowly turned around, began moving
away from that rocky shore, out to the open
sea again. We did not say anything to each other
or anyone else--not then, not later, just went on.
But today, some fifty years later, I still wonder
at my brother, and thank him now for knowing
enough to listen to what he knew and didn't know.
Ann Arbor Review | Home | next | previous | Back to Top