I worked in an orchard. Young, good

with a ladder, I pruned apple trees,

lopped crossed limbs, nipped spurs,

and comforted myself with the notion
my brother was busy underground
carefully disentangling the long roots,
season after season, tree by tree;

but now I know there are people
who tread the earth like water
because below them their dead
are trying to grasp their ankles

and pull them under, so I know

how lucky I am and how grateful

I ought to be: sick for long years

my brother begrudged me nothing.

for R.J.H. 1950-1972

charged with holding up the sky.

Neither of them are aware of it;

they just do it. It’s who they are.

Others who know them are aware

that something’s different about them

and respond to them with either

adulation or hatred. At times both,

which amounts to envy. Usually

the two never meet. However,

sometimes, after many eons,

the simple law of averages requires

they come to know each other,

even intimately and inextricably.

Those two were your parents.

But you knew that, didn’t you?