we tripped up the stairs
when we were kids
not knowing it was a metaphor
for what was to come
together, we huddled over laughing
when we reached the top
since the stumbles
left bruises on our knees
but never on our souls
unlike the steps we climb now
that take us to floors
we never meant to go to
and though I have seen you fall
so many times, my brother
each time you rise
with a grace that triumphs
your exhausted eyelids and
burned brain, remnants of
the tabooed chemicals
we made pinky-promises
never to do
none of it touched
the sincerity behind
your crooked smile
the boy that walked me home from school
when our mom was too busy
is still in those baby brown eyes
that wave at me
even over the telephone
to be honest, my brother
you give me more hope
than any self-help book
through the struggle, sorrow, and Celexa
never surrendering
to the stairs of life
and just like children
you hold out your hand
to help me up
though my knees are too sore
my heart too battered
one day I will join you
on the second floor