He was my Brother

I remember growing up 

and looking up

as he towered over me

cared for me

and loved me

It was not his fault

that he was 

left handed.

Keck handed

the schools said,

as they tied his

hand behind his back

and bade him use


right hand.


The righting,

in front of peers

pleased the principal

but marred his fears,

bright brain

and future.


He grew into a man

and was ever 

slower and insecure,

and our war born

boy irritated

the hell out

of our war torn Dad.

With tear filled eyes

I felt his pain

in punishments

passed out.


He left to 

make a go

in the forces,

he learned to 

cook and clean

and radioactive 


grew in 







I love him,

I miss him

and his love.

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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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