When we were young I occupied the summit

atop your shoulders, though you were not much

taller than me. When asked about phonics and

grammar, I knew not much really. Independent

or dependent, one could stand the other needed

a shoulder. When I remember I feel as though I

see through your eyes When I was in fifth grade

I sang the same song you did, that Bill Withers

song about implied shoulders. When we were

younger I thought I might be your shadow

trailing paths which you had visited already

When I arrived in the country we called home

or the country where you sought liberty or

joy or love whatever it may be (it is all fine with me)

I sensed your residue a shadow, a ghost, couched

from the shoulders of my newly acquired height

(approximately yours) When I remember I feel

the leak of time, as though you left your own

faucet running in another country and it falls

upon me. When I propped up my dependent

clause against the wall, removed the shoulders,

it seemed like it was waiting for something.

When we were young our shadows attached at

the shoulders. Because I see my shadow alone

I became obsessed with the word brother. Dear

brother I think in my quiet moments when

I need a shoulder. Because our paths forked

I plucked subordinating bridges from my

life sentence. I had hardly a story to tell. I

took a leap. Then another. Until I found

myself; islands away in the independent

country. I am tired of waiting. You know

the feeling. We both can sift through the

catalogue of rooms. When in Papa’s room;

When in Francis’ room; When in late room;

When in emergency room; When in lobby at

rehabilitation; When in psych ward; When

unaccompanied at the airport. These are

stories with no end. The very fabric of our

lives. It is okay. Our paths run parallel. The

unanswered thread stitched between us.

Sometimes, surrounded by the hypotactic

ocean, I extend my hand like a dependent

clause: When we were young; I say again.