Monday, 4 April 2016

Man mountain

We climbed upon my father's back
                when we were young,
                my brother and I,
                joined in mutual joy.

He was a world
                with which we wrestled
                secure in his indestructibility,

but as we grew
                his stature did not shrink,
diminish with age,
                and simplify by comparison with ours
                                but grew more strange.

Our ascent became an ordeal,
                the paths that laid our way to him
                overgrown and bifurcating,
                ending at last
                                in a tangle of paranoia
                               
and, once, the old man we met as adults
                explained himself
                                at the end: "I am happy,

for if you hated me,

it made you love your brother more"

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