She was sitting on the bench near the hollow tree,
where squirrels rarely do come. I asked her if she was okay,
she told me she was fine so I asked her again because that's the rule:
fine the first and honesty the second.
She told me it was nice of me to ask, she asked if I wanted
to be burdened by the problems of a woman who will attain half a century
in less than a decade, and I applied in the affirmative.
She began, and it broke my heart more by listening
than it fixed hers by sharing.
"My brother, oh, I raised him like my own child,
though our ages fell not even 5 years apart,
he was my son, because I raised him.
I betrayed him once by letting go of him
while he bicycled for the first time, and the second time
when I pushed him too fast to make him skate.
I taught him everything I learned,
then I gave him my good habits, my cubes, my morals
my books, my toys;
but as he arrived to a certain age, my friend,
he started spitting fire at me.
His words hurt me the way nobody had ever:
the first boy who broke my heart.
And now look, he's there and I'm here.
I live in pain each day, for I never meant for us to part."