Do you remember the hollow sound
of foot on floorboard echoing through the dim house,
the cardboard boxes stacked?
The Victorian bundled with character,
its fieldstone foundation flooding every April
like clockwork? Do you remember
how he smelled when we brought him home,
how we quaffed his potent mix of baby, gladness and
The 9/11 news burst every heart, but ours
Your brother, AA 11 over Manhattan,
his unscuplted self
fluttering on wings through windows,
into the nostrils of the sick —
no one ever asks of that:
do you remember?
In a different neighborhood,
a boy named for a dead man
plays in his new backyard
beneath the burly maples —
and do you know?
Nothing will ever beat
that smile, the hello of the upturned glove
catching the ball out of a clear blue sky,
as if by surprise,
for the very first time.