for my brother Todd on his birthday

The missionary neighbors who lived upstairs rolled us around the yard in their shipping barrel.

 

Our vagabond days*

for my brother on his birthday

We'd hide in those years, Todd and me, inside the best places

in the parsonage —sneaking up from our first floor, certain

mother or others didn't know. While she vacuumed, we tip-toed

up the back stairs of the mud room peering for Lady Chatterly**

the African Parrot chattering Bible verses to her missionary family

whose teenaged son shot BB pellets into our father's tomato garden.

We lived as sheltered vagabonds then, roaming the church halls

in shared clothes from the missionary barrel, slipping through the cribs hung

on nursery walls, the wooden bars for a make believe zoo. The church bell at

noon announced our father's lunch at the formica table in our little kitchen.

Later, in the low glow of a Mickey Mouse night light, our day tucked

in with bed time prayers. I prayed with Daddy for Jesus to come

into my heart -- and yours.  When you decided to postpone your salvation

I chattered night-light altar calls from my bed to yours. Only half mindful

of your wellness, electric whispers in the passion of my conversion, more due

to the fact that you were my first -- and best -- friend. 

*adapted structure from a poem by Bernadette McBride

**where my memory fails, I make up a few details