I used to be a child.
My mothers child.
My fathers daughter.

I used to be the hope
In my grandmother's eyes.

I used to know her hands.

I used to have a brother, once.
We used to talk at night.

I used to run by cold, Atlantic waters.
Now I sit by the Pacific.

I used to have a brother once.

Stoic and gentle–
With dry eyes
And a giant, armored heart.

He, too, used to play in gray, New England tides.

I used to have a family.
We used to be a family.