by Chrissie Morris Brady
Fragments of memories at the cusp of recall.
Which language I used then, I cannot say.
At a rock pool, with my brother,
a holiday in childhood,
He was full of wonder at everything in the world,
his box of treasure overflowed, from dentist’
stickers to shells from the beach.
My companion in childhood.
How he died that long summer, I don’t recall.
If Dad wept, or if I cried, I cannot say.
At a rock pool with my brother,
a holiday in childhood.
They can’t be sure when it happened,
or rather, when he did it.
The whole neighbourhood shocked,
the gossip about why, speculating
about his marriage.
The car is still in the garage,
the hose removed. She’ll sell it?
His widow can’t speak of the shock.
He is dead, her love. The house
gambled from under her.