Brothers

Brothers

There were no girls,

In my family,

Except,

Of course,

My mother,

We were four brothers,

My mother was the best,

She was the best Mom for boys,

My four brothers,

We are solid,

We are undivided,

We are boys,

We camped together,

We chopped wood,

We fished,

We swam in lakes,

We blew up more than our fair share of air filled,

Canvas covered,

Mattresses,

In tents.

When you camp with brothers,

When you throw knives at each other’s feet,

When you try to drown each other,

When you read comic books in tents together,

When rain is gathering close to your skin,

Your brother is shoulder to shoulder,

You can’t stand to be this close,

And yet, you are huddled,

So tired,

You say, “Get off of me!”

Your mother says,

“Go to sleep, boys!”

“Morning, is coming soon!”

You know,

You are family,

You know,

You are brothers!

There will be no one,

No body,

That will divide you,

Brothers.

Are Brothers,

Forever!

Peter Lowell Paulson

October 29, 2014