Sometimes I look at my brother

and he is not my brother

But a stranger,

A lean, muscled man,

25, the height of youth and energy, vitality -his presences radiates joy,

Finds the best in everything

Is unstoppable.

He’s building the life he wants,

effortlessly charismatic and charming,

He runs marathons and flys to Japan

Sometimes I have to remind myself he is not the small boy

Running through the mazes our father cut into the overgrown grass of our backyard, head barely visible,

or riding piggyback on our grandpas broad shoulders,

hands sticky and stained purple with the blackberrys from the edge of our yard-

He is someone else, to everyone else.

But to me, he is someone I will always be proud to call home and someone I am lucky to witness grow into such a man.

This poem is about watching my baby brother grow up. Although we don’t live in the same house anymore, his heart will always be close to mine.