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PORTRAIT OF MY BROTHER

th first time i met him,
i was two years old.
his head was as bare
as th body of a newborn gerbil.
his eyes were big and brown
and stared back up at me.
i thought i was looking
into th eyes of a puppy.
his face was as bright
as th sunrise on a May morning
when th morning mist has cleared,
and i can see olive-green leaves on th sleeping trees.
his miniature hands reached out,
clutching th ends of my light brown hair,
yanking each strand.
his small fingers and little toes
were still pinkish,
sensitive of th touch of caring hands.
his mouth
made soft gurgling noises,
and little bubbles
formed at th edge of his lips. heart