The room is empty.
He came while I was still at school,
Packed up his bony hugs and
Curly-at-the-edges smile.
I used to be one of four,
A litter that would fight over my mother's pancakes
At Sunday lunch. We'd bicker like new, wrinkled chicks,
And guard our rooms like
Lipsticked, clothe-borrowing
Naked photographed
Dogs. There was never enough food
or money
or time
For all of us,
And we all wished we were an only child.
Now my brother has left,
Tripping over his bony hugs and
Weighed heavy under curly smiles,
He forgot to say goodbye.