Tag Archives: brothers

Resurrection


As she waited to hear back from the hospital she found herself thinking about her brother’s bedroom – magical, mysterious, and strictly off limits unless she knocked and received permission to enter. A rare treat that he gave only when she promised not to ask too many questions….

“Brucie, what’s this?” she asked, fingering a fishhook from the tin box on her brother’s workbench.

“Put it down. If that gets stuck in your thumb, I’ll have to push it all the way through and you’ll cry like a girl.”

She examined the sharp point and barb, then dropped the hook and picked up another one. “What’s it for?”

“Fly fishing.” Her brother set a small hook in the workbench clamp. Taking two scarlet feather fronds from a cardboard container he placed them against the hook and spiraled golden silk thread round and round the ends, flush to the base of the curved steel, transforming the hook into an alluring winged insect.

“Wow, that’s pretty. What do you do with it?”

“You tie it on your rod like this…” Retrieving a spool from his tackle box, Bruce threaded nylon through the fishhook loop, then tied a knot and cut the line in one deft movement. He tossed the hook into the air and flicked the line back and forth. Light from his workbench lamp glinted against the shimmering gold and scarlet.

She forgot it was merely feather and steel and sat mesmerized by the dancing insect that responded to her brother’s hand.

“When this lure strikes the water,” he said, “the trout thinks Supper! He leaps to the surface, gulps the insect, and snap!” Bruce jerked his wrist. “That’s when the fish becomes my supper,” he said with a laugh.

~ * ~

It was the jangling telephone that dragged her back to the here and now. After the call she sat in stunned silence. “He’s gone,” was all her sister could say.

She imagined the neurosurgeon tying silk stitches, closing the hole where the tumor had been. The surgeon’s thread was shimmering gold.

At the corner of her vision, something flickered past the window drawing her attention outside. There an incredibly beautiful, scarlet dragonfly danced in the morning sun.

“Hi Bruce,” she whispered. “How did you do that?”

dragonfly2

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Filed under biographical, Fiction, Flash & Micro Fiction, Non-Fiction

Beloved


I am child of toboggan and of a family that played in snow

Dad chose our Connecticut house for the half acre yard,

its graded slope was perfect for tobogganing.

I am child of a mother who cut my snowsuit

from the warp and weft of my father’s WWII Marine uniform

Between her singer sewing machine fingers

magic happened.

She buttoned me up and wrapped a knitted red scarf

round and round my little bundled body

then, kissing each of my dinner-roll cheeks

she looked into my eyes and smiled.

I knew I was loved.

I am child of a family whose interlocked legs

made space for me at the front.

Tucked under the curling toboggan’s hood

nested in my sister’s lap within big brothers’ reach

I sucked and ducked gallons of snow dust

guided by parents’ voices: lean this way or lean that;

and the toboggan flew like a snow-Ferrari

until it tumbled at the bottom of the hill

dumping all of us

boots and mittens flailing

tears of laughter freezing on faces

my mother’s eyes shining, burning like a winter-hearth fire

reminding me Who I Am

before I forgot.

Decades of seasons and snow wove their tales

of forts and slushy meltdowns

until miles of death and years of living changed my view.

Today it grew cold and it snowed.

I grabbed my new yellow ergonomically designed snow shovel

and I worked all morning while flakes descended like long forgotten memories

until at last, I gazed with satisfaction at my newly cleared drive.

Exhaling clouds of frost, velvet roses feathered my cheeks with her warmth

I felt her hands bundling me up

and I saw her eyes gazing into mine

And I knew once more the love that glows against winter and cold

And I remembered

This is Who I Am.

 

 

 

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Filed under Poetry, Uncategorized