You watched me, raised me, taught me how to use
my hands to make a fist and give massage.
Your home became a haven from abuse
that I endured, that you left home to dodge.
The friends, the barflies buzzing round your flat
would treat your old-soul brother as a peer.
They answered patiently the questions that
the man-child asked to understand his fear.
We were so close until the very end,
when Mom would live with me and not with you;
she wasn't sure you had the strength to tend
her, watch her wither as she chose to do.
I never thought when leaving then that I
would never hear your voice before you'd die.