In less than nine weeks my brother will be a dad.
He’s bigger and smarter and faster than me
rivalry sets me longing
for something of my own.
I think about it one night when I can’t sit still
and clumsy fingers make my violin strings twang.
The roof iron seems to flap loose in a gust
the neighbour’s dog… well.
I think about it when my brother phones
with news of Dad’s heart attack
and the next day when he knocks on my door
bearing brownie and sonograms.
Pictures of my ghostly nephew.
A curved spine highlighted grey
the hollows of a face.
He has a big round belly
that makes us laugh, makes us feel safe.
© Saradha Koirala 2011
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Such an intimate poem – I feel rather voyeuristic reading it. The brownies and sonogram are a perfect touch – beautiful. Thanks for sharing!
I like the solid presence of the ‘ghostly’ nephew – more solid than anything else it seems. Hardly there and he holds so much in the mere promise of him. It feels like the reverse of that line from the ad: ‘I can’t eat your ghostly chips’. Nice work Saradha.