I’m Trying to Reach You

By Irene Tapert

Brother, you look at me, 

words on lips,

you can’t say.

Brother, little boys, younger than you,

fingers in their noses—

you mimic their every move.

Brother, you hug mom—

you’re scared of the noises 

you’re too old to be scared of. 

Brother, glazed over by tiny pills

they feed you—

what do you see in the wall? 

Brother, I ask you questions you

once knew the answers to—

you pick fingernails bloody.

Brother, do your thoughts

spin Shakespearean odes?

Could I give your mind a pen?

Brother, oh brother,

though you stand

taller than me now—

rest your head

in my lap like you used to.