Dear Holly,
on a clear day
the incensed church
warmed with the bodies
of mourners
standing, shoulder to shoulder,
my mother suddenly sobbed
and I
turned to see
you
carrying your
brother’s coffin
through the weighted silence
you, bearing, age 14
him, borne, age 17
I do not know how a sister bears
the burden of her brother
on her shoulder
(even Antigone did not bear so much)
but I know: this then
is now
our dubious equality
life in our wombs
and death on our shoulders
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