My Brother is My Hero

When someone means a lot to me, I tend to write about them, usually in poem.

 

My brother means a lot to me,

but as of yet I have not written a poem about him.

I don't know why,

maybe

because

I don't know how to begin, how

to sum him up in rhythmic phrases or simply because

I just let the task slip away like I do a lot of things – putting them off,

procrastinating – to which he would look me dead in the eye and say,

Lexie, that is no excuse”.

And I'm sorry. So I'll make it up to him now:

 

Matt is my elder brother 22 in age and

somehow

still 16 at heart.

Fearless but not reckless unless

you count the time he rolled his car with

windows crashed and seats crushed in

but still

he found

a gap between the crumpled wad of steel

like a crumpled piece of paper,

he stood

aloof and leaving

with nothing more than a few bruises

faint and hardly visible,

leaving behind as well

the subtle smell of leaking gasoline.

And true

he has his ways of finding trouble.

But just as equal-

maybe more-

he knows the art of swift aversion

evasion

escape by a sliver of a hair.

He's slick - he knows it.

He smirks - he knows the ropes.

But what he knows more-

what he knows best-

is how to sneak a smile

from your face so caked in dismay

for whatever reason being. You

can't help but grin from ear to ear-

genuine-

when he

speaks that soothing word

or talks you through a process. When he

takes his arms and wraps them

like a coil around your back they lock

at the spine

and suddenly

you feel his warmth

emitting

from his chest

to yours like

a ton pound wave of warm ocean water

at once

sweeping you off the ground-

enfolding

into quiet content.

 

That

is how I feel

whenever my brother hugs me.

 

I clearly remember one instance in particular when this happened.

We stood side by side,

his face grim but well-composed, a sort of

respect was brimming from his posture – hands folded,

body upright –

as we watched the coffin which hid my grandmother's body

disappear

inside the long black car and drive away.

And as I cried he held me,

with every inch of his muscles easing my tension, his comfort overflowing me.

Because of this time and many others,

I know Matt is one of the only people I can fully trust –

one of the first I know I can turn to for help.

His first priority is family.

Always has been, always will be.

And if anyone had an inkling of a doubt in his loyalty,

one time specifically, would validate his devotion:

 

When

my parents said they were getting divorced

I

didn't know what to do or

what to say or

even how to act. But

sure enough-

from miles away

consumed by city New York lights

flashing like warning signs and

constant acting classes

controlling all his time-

he was there.

Almost

in the utmost urgency

immediately

he booked a flight home

and before I even knew it

he was walking through the kitchen side door.

He was coming home

with no one asking him to,

he was coming home on his own,

to ease the tension newly risen

and

to help form that bridge which

connects my vision of married parents

to the reality of the thing.

He heard an unuttered plea,

and followed it,

deserting his present life

to attend to his little siblings

and help dad move his stuff out

and to coax mom's anxiety.

He was the needle which

pulled each of us like thread

into

the right direction we needed to go

so we could cope

with our new life.

 

I still admire my brother for this, for

acting so heroically on such a whim.

How many people do you know that would actually go to that extent,

to take care of his family? At least me,

not many.

Because of this and so much more,

I have learned what a hero really is.

What dedication really is.

What courage is. And what passion is.

 

Matt embodies all of this:

 

He is

the one I follow for guidance going

ever on upwards for

he never stops pursuing. Cause

he knows exactly what he wants

and

exactly how to get that in that

he trusts his intuition.

More so than anyone I know.

He is

the one person deserving-

rightly for he earned it-

every ounce of perfect felicity,

imperfect only

for he has no flaw.

 

He is my brother, and I'm happy to say that.

 

 

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